


The Other Way Around

by AnotherWriterWhoWrites, KassandraScarlett



Series: The Age Reverse 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Older Sam Winchester, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, Younger Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWriterWhoWrites/pseuds/AnotherWriterWhoWrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett
Summary: Sam is the older brother, Dean's the younger.It changes everything and yet, nothing really changes.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: The Age Reverse 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087763
Comments: 15
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

Case wrapped up and almost zero casualties. High on triumph, Dean popped open the trunk of the Impala. With a quick look around to check that no one was paying attention to him, he dropped the blood-covered machete inside and began rummaging for his jacket instead. He’d have to call Dad soon, he mused, to let him know the job was done. Hopefully, Dad would actually pick up this time, instead of-

The back of his neck prickled. Dean tensed. His hand closed around his gun. There was the scuff of boots against gravel and he whirled around, safety clicking off smoothly, as he-

“What the fuck?” He gasped, staring at the last person he’d expected to see in New Orleans. “Sam?”

Sam Winchester- Dean’s older brother- shoved his hands into his pockets like he was nervous, eyes flickering to the open trunk. “Hey, Dean,” he said softly. “I, uh… Is Dad in the bar? Need to talk to him.”

Dean just stared, dumbfounded, the words not quite registering. Sam had grown taller- still taller than him. His hair was a little longer, floppier, and he looked slimmer than Dean remembered him being. Did he always have that mole on his jawline?

Sam was staring back.

That prompted Dean to recall the actual question asked. “Uh, Dad isn’t here,” he mumbled. Then he cleared his throat, forcing his voice to be stronger. “What are you doing here?” He asked. “Shouldn’t you be at college, instead of looking for Dad?” Was it obvious that he was a little hurt that Sam had come for their father and not for Dean?

Sam’s eyes widened with a spark of anger. “What do you mean, _Dad isn’t here_?” He asked. “Are you hunting _by yourself_?”

Dean bristled at the tone, surprise fading away into anger. ”Well, fuck, Sammy, it’s not like I’m 18!” He snapped. He turned away, finding his jacket and pulling it on. The familiar leather settled him, like a shield against the brother who’d abandoned him four years ago.

“ _I_ didn’t hunt alone when I was 18, Dean,” Sam sighed.

It was the little hint of fear in his voice that made Dean look at him again- Sam was still staring at him, still with those conflicting emotions. Without warning, he pulled Dean into a hug.

Dean froze for a second, stunned. Almost half a decade with no contact and now a hug? _Hell, no!_ He had every intention of pushing Sam off, probably with a few choice swears, but… 

Sam’s arms tightened around him, keeping him tucked under his chin like he never planned on letting go. And Dean found himself hugging back, gingerly clutching the back of Sam’s hoodie and breathing in the paper-road-cologne scent that triggered so many sense memories of past hugs. Sam had always been the affectionate one in their little family.

Then Sam was pulling away and Dean fought to regain his footing. The anger was gone too now, leaving a weird feeling he couldn’t name. “Uh, last time Dad checked in, he said he was heading to Jericho,” he said. “Something about a bunch of men going missing from their cars- all in the same time period, all on the same 5-mile stretch of highway.” He fiddled with the cord of his amulet, trying to seem nonchalant and not freaked out. “We could call him, but he hasn’t been picking up my calls, so we might have to make the drive.”

Sam blew out a short breath, gaze drifting to the amulet on Dean’s chest. He nodded. “Probably ghost activity,” he mused absently. 

Dean nodded too. “Come on,” he said, marching around to the driver’s seat. “And don’t even think about driving, Baby’s all mine.”

“And who the hell taught you to drive her?” Sam asked pointedly.

Dean pretended not to hear. As they settled in, he told himself not to get used too quickly to having Sam in the shotgun seat.

* * *

It had been going surprisingly well. Sam had poked fun at Dean’s music taste, Dean had turned up the volume to mess with Sam, they’d laughed a little and joked and talked to the cops and found out about Constance Welch- all as a team.

So, of course, it couldn’t last long. 

“It’s been four years, Sam,” Dean sighed, unable to hold back after hearing about Sam’s girlfriend and pending law school interview. “Aren’t you tired of your _safe_ life, yet?”

Sam froze, slowly turning to fix a glare on Dean. “What do you mean by that?” He questioned, voice hard.

Dean gave him an incredulous look. “You can’t keep pretending to be something you’re not. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face up to the fact that you’re a hunter.” He laughed shortly. “I mean, are you really just gonna keep lying to your girlfriend forever? To the whole world?”

Sam’s fingers twitched at his sides. For a moment, he looked like he used to years ago whenever Dean would ask him all sorts of questions- difficult questions, about their life, about mom… Sam had always answered them as best as he could, even if Dean hadn’t understood that at the time. 

“I _was_ a hunter,” Sam corrected him flatly. “It’s a lifestyle, Dean, that we can choose to leave. And I did.” He turned away, starting to walk down the bridge- a clear dismissal.

“And what about Mom?” Dean knew he’d hit a nerve by the way Sam stiffened. “Our whole lives, we’ve been trying to find the thing that killed her and you just, what, decided you didn’t care anymore?”

“Don’t try to use Mom against me, Dean, you never even _knew_ her,” Sam snapped. “Spending 18 years of our lives on a wild goose chase isn’t what she would have wanted for us.”

“Maybe not,” Dean agreed with a sneer. “But I’m damn sure she’d have been pretty disappointed to know you’d just walked out on us.”

Sam looked ready to throttle Dean. “I just wanted to go to college, Dean,” he said emphatically. “Dad’s the one who said that if I left then I couldn’t come back. And I asked you to come with me, remember?”

“And leave Dad alone?” Dean couldn’t honestly believe what he was hearing. 

Sam outright scoffed at that. “As if he wasn’t already alone,” he muttered. “Leaving us behind in motel rooms, day and night, with the occasional ‘ _family camping trip_ ’, with complementary weapons training and melting silver into bullets for extra credit.”

The careless derision in Sam’s voice made Dean see red. Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed Sam’s arm and shoved hard, pinning him to the railing of the bridge. Sam might be taller, but Dean had 4 years of constant hunting and the element of surprise on his side. “Don’t talk like that,” he growled, shaking him a little. “Don’t talk like you don’t give a damn.”

Sam didn’t even try to fight, just let out a small grunt of pain at the clash of metal against his back. “I had to leave,” he said, slow and deliberate as he glared. “There was nothing there for me.”

_Not even me?_ Dean wanted to ask. But he didn’t, because a part of him was too scared of the answer being a pitiful ‘ _no_ ’. Breathing out slowly, he loosened his grip on Sam’s hoodie, stepping back.

He could feel Sam watching him. “You don’t get it, Dean,” he said softly. “Whatever place I had in our family, Dad’s disappointment, my resentment- I couldn’t take it. I had to get out.”

Dean almost replied, but he spotted something that made his muscles tense. “Sam,” he called in a low voice.

Sam was at his side instantly.

There was a woman standing on the edge of the bridge, poised to jump.

They both ran together just as she fell, but when they looked over the edge, there was no sign of her, no body, nothing.

“That was her,” Sam said. “The ghost.”

There was the sound of an engine turning. They turned around, only to squint against the headlights of the Impala.

“Uh, who’s driving your car?” Sam asked in a low voice.

In answer, Dean held up the car keys.

With a sudden growl of the engine, the car began to move. Towards them. As it gained speed, Sam turned and began to run, one hand curling around Dean’s forearm and gripping tight. Tires squealed as the car gained speed and together, the both of them vaulted over the bridge.

For a split second, Dean’s stomach dropped, the dizzying sensation of falling through empty air. Then there was a yank and Dean felt his legs swing idly.

“You okay?”

Dean looked up to his brother. Sam had one hand holding on to the suspension of the bridge, the other somehow keeping a hold of Dean. Good thing too, he thought, otherwise he’d have fallen into the water and ended up smelling like a toilet. Still, it wasn’t much fun dangling so many feet above solid ground.

“Super,” he answered dryly, making sure he had a good grip on Sam too.

Sam just laughed.

* * *

Turned out, college education hadn’t replaced all of their Dad’s training in Sam’s head. He was still good at picking locks, evidently, as he got the door to the motel room open in record time and tugged Dean inside like a ragdoll.

“Salt, cat’s eye shells,” Sam observed, eyes sharp and worried as they cased the room. “He was trying to keep something from coming in.”

Dean walked over to the cop board. “He was on the same track as us too,” he murmured. He shook his head to himself as he looked over the names of all the men who’d gone missing on Centennial Highway. “I don’t get it. These people- what the hell do they have in common?” He looked over his shoulder as he asked and found Sam staring at something silently. “Sam?”

Sam’s eyes were soft, fixed on a photo left taped to a mirror. A photo of the three of them- seven year old Sam on the hood of the Impala, Dad holding Dean next to him. Dean had been too young to remember the photo being clicked, but he knew how rare it was to see their father grin like that. And Sam, going by the sad smile curving his lips, was thinking the same thing.

And Dean just had to ask, “Why are you here, Sam?”

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh, staring up at the newspaper clippings first, then tilting his head back to look at the ceiling with something resembling wariness. “I needed to talk to Dad. And the number I have is from 4 years ago- it’s not in use anymore, obviously.”

Dean knew that. He knew because he hadn’t thrown away _his_ number from 4 years ago, had never been able to convince himself to, always vainly hoping that Sam might call one day. But that wasn’t important right now. “Really, Sam?” He demanded. “That’s all I get?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What is so important you have to talk to Dad about after four years of radio silence that you ran out on your girlfriend and- didn’t you say you have an interview on Monday?”

Sam closed his eyes, breathing out slowly like he was trying not to lose it. “What do you want from me, Dean?”

Dean looked away from him. That was a loaded question. “Dad’s not here, obviously,” he said instead. “Now what?”

Familiar anger and frustration took over Sam, as he grit his teeth as if just realizing the fact. “I don’t know.”

Dean fidgeted, antsy. “Okay, well, how about I get us something to eat? And…” He made a face. “Dude, I’m pretty sure you haven’t showered since leaving Stanford.”

Sam rolled his eyes, looking down at himself self-consciously. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take a shower.”

Dean sniggered as he walked out of the room. As he approached the car though, he spotted trouble: the cops he’d so gleefully pissed off on the bridge earlier. Humor fading into a muttered curse, he dialled Sam’s number. “Dude, 5-0, take off.” He ended the call without waiting for a reply, then faced the officers with a shit-eating grin. 

Hopefully, Sam would be able to get some work done before Dean could bust out.

* * *

“You figured out her weak spot,” Dean mused with a grin. He clapped Sam on the chest, right over the tear where the ghost had dug her claws in. “Just like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

Sam laughed, the sound shot through with pain as he rubbed at his chest.

“And, hey, if you screwed up my car, I will kill you,” Dean half-threatened, idly inspecting the side of the Impala.

Sam joined him on the hood, both of them leaning against it to catch their breaths. They stood in silence together for a few minutes, basking in the rush of a hunt well accomplished. 

Then Sam’s phone rang, startling them out of their laughter. He gave it a cursory glance, before answering. “Hello?”

Dean couldn’t hear the words being spoken on the other end, just a high-pitched female voice, but he watched the blood slowly drain from Sam’s face, humor replaced by terror that made his eyes go wide. He felt his own pulse race in reaction. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

Sam’s arm dropped back to his side, the phone going silent. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to choke him and he closed his eyes.

Dean, worried now, shook his shoulder. “Sammy?!”

Sam’s eyes fixed on Dean with a desperate frenzy. “It’s… It’s Jess,” he whispered. “She… There was a fire…”

Dean didn’t wait for more; he wrenched the car door open and manhandled Sam inside, before jogging over to the driver’s seat. Within a minute, they were racing along pitch-black roads to Palo Alto. And the whole time, Sam kept a white-knuckled grip on his phone, eyes dark and scared of whatever thoughts were running through his head.

* * *

The first thing that registered as they entered the Stanford campus was the pungent smell of smoke and the sound of ambulances. Sam rushed out of the car and Dean followed, staring at the ruins of an apartment building, feeling a familiarity he couldn’t place.

“Jess!” Sam yelled. He ran forward without a second look, jumping over the barricade to get to the blonde woman bundled up in the back of an ambulance. By the time Dean reached them, Sam had wrapped her in a tight hug, mouth pressed to the top of her head where he breathed her in. She was shaking, dishevelled and terrified under the grey blanket, but she seemed to calm a bit at Sam’s touch.

Instantly, Dean felt envy shoot through him.

He focused on the chatter around them instead, frowning when he heard someone say that the cause of the fire couldn’t be found: no arson, no overheated circuitry, no unattended flame. It had just started up out of nowhere.

Sam met Dean’s eyes over the top of Jessica’s head. They were thinking the same thing: no cause of fire meant that it had been supernatural. Just like…

Just like the one that had killed their mom.

“Was there anything weird?” He asked Jessica as gently as he could under the weight of this information. “A smell, temperature fluctuations, even just a bad feeling?” At her skeptical glance, he added, “I’m Sam’s brother.”

Sam bit out brief introductions. He held Jessica close, like he could protect her from everything as long as he was holding her. 

“Uh, well, no,” Jessica said softly. “I mean, I was about to bake some cookies- in case Sam came back today. But I hadn’t even started the oven, when… When the fire started.”

Dean tried not to narrow his eyes at the way she’d paused. “You saw something,” he guessed. “What?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It makes no sense,” she muttered. “But… I swear, I thought… I thought I saw Brady. And his eyes… His eyes looked black.” She gave a humorless laugh. “But he was gone in a second and… I must have imagined it, right?” She looked between the two of them wildly. “Brady’s our friend. He wouldn’t have left me to die. So, he wasn’t there. Right?”

Dean watched as shock, confusion, then realization stole across Sam’s face.

“You’re right, you were probably just seeing things,” he said quickly, before Jessica could see her boyfriend having an epiphany. “Smoke inhalation can cause hallucinations, far as I know.”

Jessica still looked unconvinced. Sam had recovered and was looking worried now.

Time to excuse himself. “Well, um, Sam, you know what, I’m gonna go try Dad’s cell again.” He nodded at Jessica. “I’m really sorry about what happened, Jessica. Glad you’re okay, though.” He beat a hasty retreat, pulling his phone out. If this fire had been caused by the same thing they’d been chasing their whole lives, Dad needed to know.

Unfortunately, the car wasn’t all that far away and Dean could hear every word Sam and Jess were saying.

“Jess, I’m sorry,” Sam was saying, resting his forehead on her shoulder. “But… It’s just… I don’t think I can stay here.”

“What?” Jess demanded, voice hysterical as she twisted to look at him. The look on her face was heartbroken and Dean’s mild envy turned into sympathy. Oh, he knew how it felt to hear Sam say ‘ _goodbye_ ’. “Sam, I almost _died_! Where are you- what is going on?”

Even from here, Dean knew that Sam was blinking back tears. “It’s our dad. He… He’s gone missing.”

“What? But I thought you said he’d be with your brother. That’s why you went to New Orleans to look for them.” Jessica seemed to study Sam’s face. “Have you spoken to the police?”

Sam shook his head. “We tried, but they can’t help us.” He cupped her face in his hands, stroking along her cheekbone and smudging the soot. “We think he’s in trouble and… I can’t just not do anything, Jess.”

Dean reached Dad’s voicemail again. Without bothering to leave a message, he put the phone away, watched as Jessica wiped her face free of ashes and tear tracks. “Of course,” she said with a firm nod. “Go. Do… Whatever you need to. Just… Be safe, okay? And… Call me. Whenever you can.”

"You too, I love you, I'm so sorry Jess." Sam leaned in close, kissing her gently. It was chaste, just the simple press of their lips together, but Dean couldn't look away. 

Sam pulled away. He stared at her for a moment longer, then with a last glance to the smoking ruins of their burned apartment, he started walking towards the Impala. Towards Dean. Without a word, he slid into the passenger's seat. 

Dean slowly joined him inside, behind the wheel. 

For a long moment, no one spoke. 

Then Sam, looking straight out the windshield, said shortly, "We got work to do."


	2. Chapter 2

It always started the same way: watching their old house go up in flames as Sam stood on the front lawn, barefoot and shivering in his thin pajamas as he desperately clutched his baby brother. He watched the flames consume the house and could have sworn he saw a man standing in the window of the nursery, staring down at him.

All of a sudden, the dream changed. It was a woman now, frantically beating her fists against the glass pane, and Sam wasn’t a kid anymore, he was a grown man and he couldn’t move. He could see her screaming for help, though he couldn’t make out her words and then-

Sam woke up with a start, back arching off the bed as he gasped for breath.

On the bed next to his, he heard Dean shuffle to wakefulness. “Hey,” he mumbled groggily. “You okay?”

Sam raised a hand, swiping at the sweat that had started to cool on his forehead. Swallowing hard, he slid off the bed. “I’m fine,” he said without looking back. “Go back to sleep, everything’s fine.”

He could hear Dean’s frustrated huff, but he closed the bathroom door to stave off any stubborn protests. Instead, he splashed cool water on his face a few times, still breathing heavy. Gripping the edges of the sink, he looked up at his reflection, trying to make sense of this new dream. The one with Jess had only come partially true; she’d survived. The other one… 

He should go back out, unless he wanted Dean to get more worked up. Sam knew he was being a little overbearing, that Dean was probably getting sick of being treated like a kid. Sam couldn’t help it, though. He remembered being eighteen himself and looking at Dean now, all he could think about was how fucking _young_ he still was.

Sighing, Sam went back into the room, sliding a hand down his face as he settled into his bed, pretending he wasn’t aware of Dean’s baleful glare.

Then he heard Dean sigh. “Sam,” Dean called quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Sam had known this moment would come. Dean wasn’t an idiot- far from it- and he couldn’t be blind to Sam’s unconscious thrashing or the growing dark circles. 

“Just bad dreams,” he answered automatically, vainly hoping it would be enough. “Nothing to worry about.”

The lamp between the beds suddenly switched on. “Cut the crap,” Dean snapped. “I know you’re lying to me and you’ve gotta stop!”

Sam sat up, looking at Dean tiredly. “It’s nothing, Dean, I’m fine…” His words petered off when Dean crossed his arms.

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, tasting defeat. “Nightmares,” he muttered. “Sometimes, they just feel too real and…” He shook his head. He didn’t want to tell Dean the truth yet. “It doesn’t matter.”

For a minute, there was total silence. Then Dean abruptly switched the light off.

Sam felt inexplicably guilty. No, he needed to tell Dean. It was only right. Slowly, he got up, crossing over to sit on the edge of Dean’s bed, feeling Dean stiffen in anticipation. 

“I keep seeing you dead,” he whispered, still half-hoping that Dean wouldn’t hear him.

But he heard Dean’s breath hitch. The lamp switched on again and Sam closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to face him.

“I keep having dreams of you, burning to death, pinned to the ceiling,” he said, suddenly feeling a great sense of relief at getting it off his chest.

“Like… Like mom?” Dean’s voice was hoarse. Then he took a quick breath, one of epiphany. “That’s why you came to New Orleans, to talk to Dad. You were… Worried.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, nodding. “I saw Jess too. Dying. In the same way. But it didn’t come true, not all the way. Something changed. And now…” He took a shuddering breath. “I think I’m starting to see other people.”

“Others?”

Sam buried his head in his hands, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking. Along with the relief of putting his fears into words, all the fear and grief and worry he’d been carrying around since saying ‘ _goodbye_ ’ to Jess- hell, since he’d first started having the dreams- was spilling over inside of him, like a broken dam.

“Hey.” Dean sounded alarmed and a hand landed on Sam’s knee. “If Jess didn’t die- and nothing’s happened to me, either- then we can save other people too, right? We can save anyone that you might dream about.”

Sam finally looked up at his brother, trembling a little, as he met the open concern in Dean’s wide eyes. Without a thought, he half-tackled him, wrapping his arms around him tightly, trying to protect him somehow from the flame-filled visions of his subconscious.

Dean was stiff for a few moments, like he was trying to maintain the aloof persona he’d just begun to develop before Sam had left, when he’d begun getting standoff-ish and pulling away from hugs with long-suffering grumbles. But then he relaxed, head resting on Sam’s shoulder and hugging back. And Sam finally felt like he could breathe, like he was a kid himself and could keep his little brother safe by curling around him every night.

* * *

“Sammy?” Dean peered at him carefully over the little table. “Tell me exactly what you saw last night.”

In the light of the morning sun, Sam still couldn’t forget his helplessness in the dream. “I was outside a house. There was a woman inside, at the window. She was screaming for help, but I couldn’t get to her.”

“Where do we even start looking?” Dean groused. “Wasn’t there anything that could tell us where to go? Anything about the house?”

Sam aimlessly pushed the oatmeal around in his bowl. “I know the house,” he hedged. “I know where we have to go.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Sam stalled a few more seconds, chewing slowly. Then, he said, “Lawrence. Kansas. It’s happening at our old house.”

For a few seconds, Dean froze, mouth slack, half-chewed pancakes very visible and making Sam crinkle his nose. Then he shook his head. “Lawrence… Dad never took a case in Lawrence.” He swallowed nervously. “Sam, he never wanted any of us anywhere near there. And now you’re telling me your Shining wants us to go there? Back home?”

“Look, Dean, I know,” Sam assured, just a touch bitterly. “But Dad’s not here. And there’s a woman who might need our help. I mean, even if I’m wrong and all this is just weird dreams, we should at least make sure anyway, right?”

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “Okay,” he sighed heavily. “Okay, let’s go.”

Sam glanced away. “You don’t even have any memories of her,” he said quietly, almost wistfully. “It shouldn’t affect you that badly.”

Dean pursed his lips. Without a word, he got up, pocketed the car keys, and walked out of the diner.

* * *

As the car rolled to a stop, Sam tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look up at the house- their old house. From the outside, it looked normal, in need of a paint job and an uneven path leading up to the front door. But in his mind’s eye, Sam could see flames covering it, eating away at the wood as sirens and screams filled the air, the putrid scent of smoke in his nose and the cloying taste of ash in his mouth that covered up the bitter taste of something sulphuric that had lingered at the back of his throat…

Dean was saying something, Sam realized. But he couldn’t quite focus, couldn’t reply, just stared up at the house where his childhood had ended too soon, recalling the feel of cold grass under his feet and Dad’s tight grip and the baby in his own arms.

“Sam!”

Sam closed his eyes, shaking Dean’s hand off his shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured, blinking fast. 

Dean shook his head. “Dude, you are _losing_ it,” he admonished. “You were remembering the night of the fire, weren’t you?”

Sam nodded. “It’s not all clear,” he said. “But not something I can forget either, you know?”

“What do you remember?” Dean asked, with just a note of hesitation.

Sam shrugged. “The heat, the smoke.” He looked down at his hands, curling them into fists when he noticed them shaking. “Dad telling me to run. Carrying you out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean open his mouth, then close it again, with a slightly furrowed brow.

It made him smile wryly. “We never told you that, did we?”

Dean shrugged. “No, but I think maybe I kinda knew it, anyway.”He sighed, looking out the windshield. “Dad told me never to ask. And when I asked _you_ , you always looked really sad. So, I just… Stopped asking, I guess.”

“I barely let go of you that whole night,” Sam went on. “Dad tried to take you, the firemen wanted to check you over… But I’d start screaming and crying so they had to work while I held you.”

Dean shifted, but stayed quiet.

Sam looked back at the house. “Dad’s not the only one who never wanted to come back,” he said. “I always swore to myself I’d never…” He trailed off.

“Sam, are you sure you’re up for this?” Dean asked, concerned. “I could do this one on my own…”

Sam was levelling a glare at him before he finished speaking.

Dean immediately scoffed. “Hey, you offered to do the airplane one on your own too!”

“Yeah, because you started shaking like a kid when I said we’d have to get onboard,” Sam shot back, grateful for the familiar banter.

Dean started the car. “I was not shaking.”

“Whatever gets you through the night,” Sam said. “Now come on, let’s get this over with. It’ll be fine.”

* * *

It was not fine.

First, Missouri Mosley read him like a children’s book left open, looking at him so sadly that it made Sam want to hide. And she couldn’t even tell them where Dad was.

Second, it turned out that whatever had killed mom and almost killed Jess wasn’t actually the thing they were currently hunting.

Then, he almost got choked to death by a lamp cord, of all things, and was saved by Dean.

And now, as he carried the two kids down the hall, almost out of the house, something made him stop: a shiver racing down his spine, an unexplainable need to stay in the house, like there was something he needed to see.

Quickly, he placed the older girl on the floor, handing the toddler to her. “Seri, take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back.”

For a second, she just stared.

“Go!” Sam ordered.

Then he was yanked backwards by an invisible force. Within seconds of being thrown around, he was pinned to a wall, the poltergeist’s psychic grip so strong that Sam couldn’t move an inch, head forcibly tilted back.

He could hear Dean yelling his name, hacking away at the door with something, probably an axe. He should yell back, at least to let Dean know he was alive, but there was a figure walking into the room- not the poltergeist, but a vaguely humanoid shape, engulfed entirely in ghostly flames. It turned towards Sam and a feeling of calm washed over him, an almost childlike certainty of protection.

Dean burst in, shotgun raised, a protective stance in front of Sam.

“Wait, Dean!” Sam yelled, breath catching in his throat. “Don’t shoot!”

“What?!” Dean demanded. “Why not?”

Sam stared into the fire, not daring to look away. “Because I know who it is,” he said, voice low and reverent. “I can see her now.”

The flames curled and extinguished themselves. And there stood Mary Winchester, smiling softly at her sons.

Sam had forgotten the details of her face, he realized, and the photos in their Dad’s journal didn’t do her justice.

She was beautiful.

Dean was the first to speak. “Mom?” Just that single word, sounding like a child.

“Dean,” the ghost of their mom said. Then she turned that sad smile to Sam, crossing the distance between them in a few steps. “Sam.”

Sam felt tears prick at his eyes, but he stared at her with a wide, hungry gaze, wanting to memorize every last detail of her, every cadence of her few words.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her smile fading.

“For what?” Sam asked in a whisper, barely able to speak past the tears. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to be hugged by her like he was just 4 years old again. But she turned away and it took all of his willpower not to sob.

“You- get out of my house,” she spoke coolly, staring up at the ceiling where the poltergeist lingered at a safe distance. Her body was engulfed in flames once more. “And let go of my boys.” And then she was gone.

Sam felt himself relax, no longer trapped against the wall. Dean’s arm was at his side, shotgun limp in his hand.

For a few seconds, they stood in silence, trying to get their breathing under control.

Dean spoke first. “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

Sam’s legs were numb. Dean’s grip on his elbow helped him find his balance and, with a last look towards the center of the room where Mary had stood, he followed his brother out.

* * *

“Well, that’s it,” Missouri sighed, joining Sam on the steps. “No more spirits.”

Sam’s stomach was still in knots as he looked back at the house, half-hoping to see a ghost. “Not even my mom?”

Missouri shook her head, her gaze gentle. “Your mom’s spirit and the poltergeist’s energy cancelled each other out. She destroyed herself to save you boys.”

Sam turned away, looking out at Dean, who stood by the car with the woman they’d just saved.

You sensed it, didn’t you?” Missouri tilted her head at him in curiosity. “The spirits. Even when I couldn’t.”

Sam shot her a pleading glance. “What’s happening to me?” He asked, low enough to ensure that Dean wouldn’t be able to overhear.

Missouri’s gaze darted away from him. “I wish I knew, honey. Even your father… I wish I could help.”

Sam got the feeling she wasn’t telling the whole truth. But he let it go, managing another nod and giving her a brief hug before making his way to the car.

Dean was staring at a bunch of photos, the ones that Seri’s mom found in the basement of the house. Sam took a quick glance at them over his shoulder, nostalgia stabbing through his gut.

“That wasn’t fair, you know,” Dean said quietly.

Sam lingered on the photo of mom holding baby Dean in front of the house- he actually had a faint memory of that day. “What do you mean?” He asked.

Dean looked up at him. “You keep saying that this stuff shouldn’t affect so much, because I never knew mom.” He shook his head, jaw clenched. “Truth is… I’d give anything to have even just one memory of her.”

Guilt flooded Sam. “I wish you could have known her too,” he offered. “She loved you.”

Dean sighed. “I know. Just wish I could remember it.” He started to walk around the car, ready to drive away from their old hometown.

But Sam stayed put, looking around. The memory of that photo grew stronger and he found himself drawn towards the old tree. Wordlessly, he pulled Dean along to the tree. It took him a few moments to find the carvings, but when he did, he felt Dean still beside him.

For a long moment, they stood side by side in silence, reading the two names carved into the trunk. _Sam_. _Dean_.

“Mom did this when we brought you home,” Sam murmured. “Said it was a family thing; used to be that you’d plant a sapling for every birth. Since that’s not feasible, mom did this for us instead.”

Dean swallowed, tracing the letters of their names, scraping away the bark and moss that had grown over it. “Okay.” His voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam smiled, as they finally turned to walk back to the car. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, shoving him good-naturedly. “You’re forgiven.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was a weird irony, Dean mused. Here he was dying on a hospital bed- no ceilings or weird fires- but Sam still looked so terrified, on the verge of being sick, like it was taking all his willpower not to throw up.

“How you feeling?” The older man asked in a forced voice, brimming with an unidentifiable darkness.

Dean shrugged as much as he could with his injuries. “Pretty good. Except daytime TV sucks and none of the nurses are cute.” He said the last part with a pout, hoping it would draw a reaction from Sam.

But Sam just tensed further, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides like he wanted to strangle Dean himself. “Doctors said it doesn’t look good.”

Dean resisted the urge to sigh, simply looking away. “Whatever, man. You should probably hit the road either way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam’s whole body jerk. “What?” He asked through tightly grit teeth.

“Oh, and take care of my wheels,” Dean added warningly, fighting to keep his voice as level as he could. “Or I swear I’ll haunt your ass.”

“What the hell are you-?!” Sam cut himself off, pressing his lips together for a moment. “Stop talking like that,” he ordered.

Dean looked at Sam, finally letting his own hurt show. “Come on, Sammy,” he said quietly. “You heard the doc: I’ve barely got a month.” He took a deep shuddering breath, trying to think of what to say to get Sam out of here so he wouldn’t have to see Dean like this. “It’s an occupational hazard and we’ve known it since we were kids. I just… I drew the short straw..”

“No,” Sam denied, shaking his head. “This is not happening, no.” He ran his fingers through his hair, visibly thinking hard. “I’m going to figure something out, Dean. I’m going to get you help.”

Dean sighed. A part of him was thrilled, guiltily so, at how vehement Sam was about saving him. It made him think of the first time he’d gotten hurt on a hunt; he’d been 11 and terrified but trying not to make any sounds of pain, eyes fixed on Sam’s steady gaze as Dad stitched up the wounds on his back. Sam had looked the same back then as he did now- angry and scared- and Dean, thoughts dazed from blood loss and pain meds, had thought to himself that there was nothing in the world better than having his brother’s complete attention, that irrefutable proof that no one in the world could ever love him more than Sam did.

It was that feeling of safety that had grown, evolved into something different, a sort of fierce longing for being the only one who Sam looked at like that, for having every part of Sam all to himself. He’d hated himself for that selfishness, even when he was too young to really understand what he was feeling. And when Sam had left for Stanford, not even meeting Dean’s eyes as he walked out, he’d wondered for a long time whether he’d been too transparent.

He was over it now. Mostly. Sure, his stomach twisted with jealousy every time he overheard Sam softly talking to his girlfriend over the phone, but as long as no one knew, it didn’t matter.

“Dean?”

The sound of his name shook him out of his reverie. “The only help I need right now is deciding between burial and cremation,” he muttered.

Sam set his lips in the beginnings of a snarl. “No,” he growled again. “That’s not happening.”

Before Dean could think of a response, Sam turned and strode out like he was on the warpath.

* * *

By the time night fell, Dean had had enough of the stark whiteness and sterilized smell that was universal to hospitals. If he was dying, he was damn well going to do it where he could see Sam. Sure, he hadn’t wanted Sam to see him like this, but, well- he’d told Sam to get gone and Sam had refused. His fault.

Short of breath and forehead clammy with sweat from the effort it had taken to break out, he practically fell against the door, banging on it with an open palm. Barely a minute must have passed, though it felt like hours, before the door was opening. Dean swayed, stumbling inside, ignoring the way Sam’s eyes had widened in shock.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He demanded, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to the bed.

Dean collapsed on the mattress, stifling a gasp of pain. “I’m not. Dying. In a hospital. Where the nurses aren’t even hot.” His vision went blurry for a second as Sam hovered over him. His heart was beating irregularly, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the damage it had suffered or because of how close Sam’s face was to his own, hazel eyes peering at him in concern. 

Sam looked conflicted, but he settled in next to Dean, turned towards him, one hand placed on Dean’s chest. It was warm and comfortable, even better than being swaddled in Sam’s hoodie, and Dean found it so very tempting to drift off. He didn’t, for fear that he wouldn’t be able to wake up.

“I think I found something,” Sam murmured after a while.

It took Dean a second to realize his eyes had closed, and another second to force them open. He shot Sam a skeptical look. “You’re kidding me.”

“It’s a long shot,” Sam admitted. “A faith healer called Roy LeGrange, has a history of healing people of the worst kind of sicknesses.”

“A faith healer?” Dean scoffed. “Come on, man, that kinda stuff is never legit.”

“Yeah, usually, but I checked this guy out. Dean, I think he’s the real deal. We can give it a shot, at least, right?” He sounded confident, but there was a thin veneer of desperation.

Dean sadly noted the dark circles that spoke of his brother’s exhaustion. “I don’t know, Sam,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you call Dad instead? Get his two cents?” A week ago, that would have been a laughable solution. But Dad had called them himself a week ago. He’d called and talked to them and given them coordinates for a job. Surely, he would pick up now?

But Sam suddenly looked angry again. “I’ve been calling Dad pretty much non-stop, since we checked you in to the hospital. He’s not picking up, or replying to my texts, and I’m pretty sure I’ve filled his voicemail up.”

Dean blinked, thoughts grinding to a halt. What do you know, it was a laughable solution, after all. “Oh,” was all he could say and it was barely above a whisper.

He felt Sam press closer, felt lips press to his hairline. “Hey, it’s okay, we won’t need him,” he assured. “I’m going to make sure you get healthy again, Dean.”

Dean changed his thought process: sure, Dad had called to give them the Burkittsville job, but it was Sam who’d come back for him, who’d stolen a car to get to him, who’d abandoned Dad’s trail to come save him. Dad wasn’t here; but his brother was. “Okay, Sammy,” he managed to say and let himself be lulled to sleep.

* * *

“Tell me again: why do we think this is going to work?” Dean asked, gritting his teeth in pain even as he subtly scanned the tent for Layla. “And let go my arm, dude, I can walk!” He actually couldn’t and he knew it, so maybe it was a good thing that Sam paid no attention to his whining and kept a firm grip around him anyway.

They pushed their way through the crowds, Sam guiding them carefully as Dean leaned into his side and tried his best to make walking easier. Somehow, they found a seat in the very first row.

“Because I have faith,” Sam said firmly, sounding eerily like Layla.

Dean groaned, but then Sam shushed him frantically, as an elderly blind man walked on stage. He started a sermon and every inch of Dean was crawling with discomfort at the words about God and Heaven and belief. Call him a cynic, but it was hard to believe in those concepts after everything he’d seen. He had no idea how Sam did it.

“It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends,” Roy intoned, facing the crowd, as if he could see them even with his blindness. “The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people’s hearts.”

With the way Dean scoffed a little too loudly, it was the last thing he expected to hear his own name called. “Uh, no, I…” He stammered, trying to shrink into himself. “Why don’t you pick someone else?” He couldn’t explain it, but there was a heavy guilt weighing him down. Why should he get to be healed, when there were so many other people here who deserved it more, people who truly believed?

“No, no, Dean, shut up,” Sam hissed, grabbing Dean’s arm and pulling him towards the stage, rough in a way he hadn’t been for the past few days.

Dean tried not to cower as the low murmurings of the crowd reached him, both curiosity and resentment towards the faithless newcomer.

No doubt Sam could hear them too, but he ignored it. “Heal him,” he asked of LeGrange. “Please.” His voice broke pleadingly and Dean felt a stab of guilt.

So he let himself be helped up, trying not to flinch at how cool LeGrange’s palm was. It made him shiver, as the healer raised his hand. It landed on his head.

Suddenly, Dean couldn’t breath. His knees buckled and he hit the ground with a strangled gasp. Distantly, he thought he could hear Sam calling his name and he tried to answer, but… But there was someone standing next to LeGrange, tall and skeletal with cold, dead eyes.

The rest of his vision went blurry and he fell back on his haunches. Long arms clutched at him from behind and there was a familiar voice in his ear, sounding panicked.

Dean slumped back into a firm chest and lost consciousness.

* * *

Dean wanted to curse, low and mean. He wanted to rage and yell and maybe cry, because it wasn’t fair that they couldn’t catch a break, because he deserved to be dead if being alive meant someone else had taken his place…

But Sam had been looking guilty since they’d figured out the phoney faith healer’s game, hunched in on himself like he was trying to be invisible. He wasn’t even meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Okay.” Dean took a deep breath. “First thing: we need to figure out where that black altar is. And someone needs to make sure that no one else-” He felt a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of Layla. “-gets healed in the meantime.”

They were sitting in the car- Sam looked out through the windshield, gazing at the crowd of people who were moving towards the tent. “Well, out of everyone involved in this operation, who’s most likely to have control of the reaper?”

“LeGrange, obviously.”

To his surprise, Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. He seems to genuinely believe in his own power. I think it might be the wife.”

Dean exhaled heavily. “Of course, yeah. LeGrange had been dying a while back. She must have made a deal to save him and then… Got drunk on the power.” He shook his head. “Why she would ever meddle with something like that?”

Sam was quiet for a beat. “She was desperate. I can’t say I blame her for doing whatever she could to save her husband.” He sighed, opening the car door. “Come on, let’s find that altar before someone else dies.”

* * *

In the end, it had been easy. But even as Layla’s parting words circled his mind, Dean couldn’t stop feeling like he’d just learned a huge lesson today. He just couldn’t quite figure out what it was. He could feel Sam’s sidelong glances too, but he ignored them- he was all out of energy for deep discussions.

But as he headed for the door, Sam’s fingers curled tightly around his forearm. Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at him, remained staring forward.

Sam was standing too close, his breath tickling the shorter strands of Dean’s hair. “Please don’t feel guilty,” he said softly. “I’m the one that brought you here, Dean, I’m the one that found this place. So if you need to blame someone, blame me. Hell, take a swing if it’ll make you feel better.” He took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. “But I’m not gonna apologize for saving you. I really do wish no one had died in your stead, but truth is-” He stuttered for a second, like he couldn’t believe his own words. Then he shook his head. “Truth is, I’d trade him, and I’d trade them all, just for you to be okay.”

And with that, he was gone, shouldering his backpack and walking towards the Impala like he hadn’t just shifted Dean’s worldview.

Dean stood in the doorway for a long time, watching Sam dump his bag in the trunk before getting in. A stray thought flit through his mind: _maybe he does feel the same way._

Then he shook his head and walked out too.


	4. Chapter 4

For all his suspicions, Sam was glad he’d run into Meg again. He couldn’t help but smile a bit as he looked down at her number on his phone, before pocketing it. When he looked up, it was to an odd look from Dean. “What?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Well, for one, what the hell happened with Jess that you’re flirting with some random chick?” He asked casually. “Secondly, said weird chick is really weird if she doesn’t like me.”

Sam frowned, looking down the road Meg had walked. “Flirting?” He repeated. “I’m not flirting. You do know it’s perfectly normal to just talk to girls without expecting anything? We’d just connected over being the older sibling.”

Dean just shook his head in mocking pity. “Well, I hate to break it to ya, big brother, but she was flirting with you.” He started walking towards the car. “Seriously, man, you’re, like, 4 years older than me. Shouldn’t you be more aware?”

Sam scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know I’ve never really cared about flirting and all that,” he reminded sullenly. “You’re the one that flirts with anything that moves and that is not how I raised you.”

“Yeah, but you also left me to my own devices for 4 years…”

Sam flinched at the sharp reminder that he’d left-  _ abandoned, _ a dark corner of his mind corrected- his brother.

“Um, I meant…” Dean stammered, eyes going wide and a little guilty at Sam’s reaction. “Of course, you didn’t teach me flirting, dude, I don’t think you even know how to flirt.”

Sam took a deep breath. “I know how to flirt,” he muttered, accepting the subject change.

Dean rolled his eyes with a good-natured scoff. “Please. I bet poor Jess had to whack you over the head with one of your books until you realized she was asking you out.”

Dean’s words brought back memories with a sharp pang of longing for those study dates back in sophomore year. Sam and Jess would always be the only ones present for it and he hadn’t realized it was deliberate until Jess had, in fact, smacked his arm with her textbook- biology books hurt like a bitch- and kissed him. “That’s not the point,” he tried to defend himself.

Dean just laughed. “Sure, sure, whatever you say.”

* * *

So, despite Sam’s hopes of being proved again, Meg had continued acting suspicious after all. Sam was careful to keep his distance while following her- he really didn’t want to be accused of stalking. Unwittingly, Meg led him to an abandoned building and Sam grit his teeth in disappointment when he saw her standing at what was unmistakably an altar, speaking into a bowl that was filled with… Was that blood?!

As he watched, he knew there was no doubt that Meg was a novice or a one-time practitioner. Her movements were too fluid, too practiced; the whole thing was too neat. She definitely knew what she was doing.

After she left, he waited a few seconds to be sure, then hurried to the altar, staring at the collection of human hearts and runes, each one spelling out more dangerous things than the last. Taking a few quick pictures, he began to jog back to their motel.

As soon as he threw the door open, he was face to face with Dean.

“Dude, I need to talk to you,” they said at the same time.

Dean blinked.

In the seconds it took him to recover, Sam was bringing his phone out and showing the pictures. “It’s Meg. She’s the one summoning the creatures.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, about that- that symbol was Zoroastrian. It’s called a daeva. They’re vicious, and super hard to control though, so if your not-so-secret admirer loses her grip, they’re gonna rip her to shreds.”

Sam winced at the imagery. Summoner or not, no one deserved that kind of fate. But on the other hand, neither had all those victims; Meg had brought this upon herself. “Alright, let’s get her then.”

* * *

Dean laughed, like he couldn’t help it, after Meg laid out her plan. “You really think,” he started. “That our dad is going to just waltz in here? That’s not gonna happen, he’ll know this is a trap. He’s just too good.”

Meg’s smile was condescending and sweet. “He’s already in town, silly. And you’re right, he is good. But that doesn’t matter. If it’s his precious boys in danger, he’ll come running.”

“The man couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone when we needed his help before.” Sam didn’t try hiding his bitterness. “And even if he does come now, it’s gonna take more than a shadow to kill him.” He tilted his head up at her. “Why are you doing this?”

Meg sighed, exasperated, suddenly straddling Sam. “All in good time,” she purred. “Let’s get to the more fun stuff, shall we?” She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “I saw you watching me, you know.”

Sam flushed red, jerking his head away from her as best as he could, distantly noting the scent of sulphur that she wore like perfume. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped. “You’re not exactly my type.”

She grinned- which wasn’t the reaction he’d been going for, but as long as it kept her focus on him instead of Dean... 

She kissed him without warning. Sam grunted in surprise and anger as he kept his mouth closed tightly, squirming under deceptive strength as she easily held him in place, biting at his bottom lip, her thin fingers digging painfully into the side of his neck.

And all Sam could do was think of Jess and pray that Dean would get himself free soon.

Then there was the sound of metal scraping along cement, dashing his hopes.

Instantly, Meg straightened, smiling at Dean with amusement, the way one smiled at a pet, as she left Sam to approach him instead. In one smooth movement, she’d disarmed him, twirling the knife briefly before tossing it aside.

In a flash, she was all over Sam again. Except this time, he was ready.

“Now, Sam.” She tutted at him teasingly, her smile smug and coy. “Were you just trying to distract me while your brother cut himself free?”

Sam glared, but he couldn’t help smirk up at her. “No. It was because I’ve got a knife of my own.” She didn’t have time to react before he grabbed her shoulders and slammed his head into her as hard as she could.

Meg fell back, staggering and dropping to her knee, probably more stunned than hurt. Sam didn’t waste a second; he slid the knife towards Dean and leapt towards the altar, destroying it in one sweep of his arms.

Immediately, the daeva reared up, enraged and vicious. Meg barely had time to stand before she was being attacked, ripped apart to shreds and thrown out the window.

Sam and Dean rushed to look down at her mangled body. She lay still, absolutely unmoving, and Sam felt a stab of regret for the girl he’d met on the road.

For a moment, they stood there, panting.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said breathlessly. “Next time you make friends with a cute hitchhiker, make sure she’s not so buckets of crazy.”

Sam rolled his eyes, as they made their way back to the car. His forehead hurt where he’d hit Meg and he rubbed it with a frown, almost thankful for a headache that was relatively normal and not due to freaky visions.

Getting back to the motel room was relatively quiet, with minimal arguing between them.

“Why do we need to carry all our bags if we’re leaving in literally an hour?” Dean complained.

“I told you: better safe than sorry,” Sam hissed.

“Oh, well then, you can carry all of them,” Dean snapped, more humor than actual annoyance. He pushed open the door of their room. “I mean, what use is that height of yours if-?” His words stumbled to a stop.

Sam followed his gaze, landing on the silhouette in their room, and shifted to stand in front of Dean, almost about to draw his gun, but-

“Dad?” Dean choked out. And he pushed past Sam, rushing forward just as the figure stepped into the light and became visible.

“Hey, boys,” John Winchester greeted as he caught Dean in a hug. “Hey, Dean.”

Sam stared dumbly as Dean and Dad hugged tightly, something like relief making them melt into each other.

A part of Sam wanted to do the same- the part of him that, despite everything they’d last said to each other, had missed his father. But as Dean pulled back with obvious reluctance, Sam couldn’t bring himself to move. Anger, hurt, resentment, pride- all of it bubbled up inside of him, like a restless volcano about to erupt.

“Come here, Sammy,” Dad said quietly.

And Sam was there in two long steps, crumbling into his father’s embrace, burying his face in his shoulder and breathing in the leather-road-spice scent of his childhood. “Hi, dad,” he whispered, voice breaking from the stress and worry he’d been carrying around ever since Dean had told him that dad was missing.

He closed his eyes, wishing futilely that the three of them could just stay in this little comfort zone for longer.

Then they were all torn away from each other, each of them thrown across the room.

For a second, Sam saw stars, the back of his head throbbing as well now. In the dimness, he could make out Dean struggling to get up, Dad huddled against the corner and obviously hurt, the daeva rushing across the walls and… And the weapons bag Dean had dropped upon seeing Dad.

“Dean! Dad!” He yelled, as he scrambled towards the duffel and dug out the flares. “Close your eyes!”

Hoping they’d heeded his words, Sam closed his own eyes tightly, just as fiery white light filled the room. Inhuman shrieks echoed through the air and Sam blindly reached for his father, helping him balance. Squinting, he could see Dean grab the bags and race out of the room. Sam followed, Dad leaning on him slightly.

All of them took a collective breath of relief out in the cool night air, blinking out the spots in their visions.

“We need to get out of here,” Sam said, looking around them frantically, trying to think fast. Out of the corner of his eye, he felt his father tense. “Dad?”

“We can’t go together.”

Sam turned to Dean immediately, just in time to see his face fall. His own heart dropped, fear making his throat close up. He wanted to argue, wanted to protest that they were stronger together, but…

He closed his eyes for a long moment. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “The demons are after you and… We make you vulnerable.” He half-expected Dean to give him a betrayed glance, but his little brother just nodded grimly, eyes fixed stubbornly on the ground.

Dad looked at Dean carefully. When he turned his gaze on Sam, he could see a soft gleam there: pride.

It made Sam stand a little taller. “We’re going to meet up again, at the end of this,” he vowed. “We can’t let them win.”

John nodded. “This will all be over soon,” he promised. “Look after each other, boys.”

“Yes, sir,” both of them replied.

He took a deep breath. Then he got into his truck and, without a second glance back, drove away.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. Looking at his brother, Dean looked like a kid again, face pinched and drawn, something bitter about his expression. Sam reached out, slinging an arm around his shoulders and tugging him to his side.

Dean squawked as he tripped sideways, having no choice but to grab onto Sam’s arm to balance himself. When he relaxed into it, his own arm curling around Sam’s waist, he looked up. “He’s gonna be okay,” he stated, as they limped together towards their car.

Moments like this, when Dean stepped forward and consoled _him_ , Sam found himself wishing he’d never left for college. Maybe then Dean could have been a child for a little longer, wouldn’t have had to grow up so fast.

“Sammy?”

“It’s not him that I’m worried about,” Sam admitted. He thought about the three days Dean had spent with a damaged heart- weak, pale, a shadow of himself- and Dad hadn’t been there to help. The memory made him press closer to Dean’s side and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

Dean shivered lightly.

Sam sighed. “Just wish he’d pick up the phone,” he murmured.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean knew this was going to be a tough case as soon as they got the details from dad; anything involving kids always were. But even so, he hadn’t expected Sam to be so badly shaken up. His older brother was currently staring at the window sill of a victim’s bedroom, like the thin handprint on it- supernatural residue- had personally stabbed him in the back.

“Sam?”

No answer.

Dean reached out, shaking his shoulder. “Sam!”

Sam started. He looked down at Dean with suddenly wide eyes, blank and distant, like he wasn’t really seeing him. He let out a shuddering breath after a moment. “What?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sometimes, Sam seemed to forget that he wasn’t a clueless child anymore. “I gotta ask? Dude, you like you’ve seen a…” He reconsidered. “Well, like you know something. Spill.”

Sam glanced at the handprint, jaw moving side to side. “Just… Remembering something. From when we were kids.”

Dean blinked. “You know what this is, don’t you?” He guessed. “You know what we’re dealing with.”

Sam visibly clenched his teeth. “Let’s go back to our room.”

Dean drove them back to the motel, feeling restless lke he always did when he knew Sam was hiding something. As they got out of the car, he instinctively looked around for Michael, the kid who’d sat at the reception last night and mocked his choice of two queens. But the front desk was weirdly empty, though he didn’t give it much thought, following Sam to their room instead.

“I don’t remember what it’s called,” Sam cautioned. “But dad was hunting it when we were kids.” He rubbed at his forehead. “It got pretty close to us too.”

“And he didn’t kill it?” Dean asked incredulously. “That doesn’t make sense, he’d have made sure to finish the job.” Something suddenly occurred to him. “Wait, you don’t think this is the same one?”

“He didn’t kill it because he had to make sure that we were okay.” But Sam wasn’t meeting his eyes. “He got distracted and it ran. So, yeah, Dean, this might be the same one.”

Dean shook his head. “ _Dad_ got _distracted_?” He repeated skeptically. “Dude, come on, I know you better than this. What’s up?”

For a few moments, Sam was silent. Then he took a deep breath, finally meeting Dea’s gaze. Guilt was written all over his features. “The creature got into the bedroom. It was right above you. It… It got _past me_ to you. I was supposed to protect you, but…” He looked away again, dragging a hand down his jaw. “Dad came in just in time, shot at it. He missed and it got away. You were alright, but…” His voice hitched. “It was too close. I didn’t do my job right and… Dad never looked at me the same after that, you know?”

Dean took a deep breath. “You were just a kid,” he tried to console.

“And you were my responsibility,” Sam said, staring at Dad’s journal.

Dean felt his heart gave a painful twist at that word. Was that how Sam used to see him back when they were kids? Just a responsibility? A burden? No, this wasn’t the time for that. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “Dad is…” He hesitated, respect and loyalty warring with the need to comfort his brother. “Look, I love the man, but we both know he can be an ass sometimes. He shouldn’t have put that on you.”

Sam sighed. “Let’s just kill this thing before it hurts another child.”

Dean pursed his lips unhappily. “Alright, come on. What’s dad written about it?”

Sam tapped the page the journal was open on and set it on the table. “Shtriga.”

“Uh, goes after siblings,” Dean read aloud, dragging it closer to himself. “Youngest to oldest. Sucks their souls out. Supposedly live for years and can change shape.”

Sam had moved around to him, looking over his shoulder and reading along. “Yeah, that’s what I saw,” he reminisced. “Looks kind of like a dementor.”

Dean could feel the warmth of Sam’s chest right behind him. If he turned around, all he’d have to do was lean up on his toes and… He shook his head. “Geek,” he scoffed, shifting further away. He pretended not to see the hurt that flashed through Sam’s eyes at the distance between them. “What if it’s at the hospital? Best cover, right?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Hide a tree in a forest and all that.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever, college boy,” he snarked. “We need to stake out the hospital.”

* * *

“You gotta admit, it’s easy pickings for him,” Sam mused in the passenger seat, staring at the photo of the doctor-shtriga. “He’s trusted, he’s got access to all the patients, he’s not out of place.”

“Well, now we know how to gank him, we just gotta figure out who he’s coming after next,” Dean said, as they pulled into the motel’s parking lot.

Sam scrolled through the laptop. “Well, youngest to oldest, so if the last victim was a-”

‘Hey.” Something had caught Dean’s attention- a woman talking in loud, frantic tones to a boy. “Isn’t that the kid from the reception desk? And his mom?”

“Yeah.” Sam squinted. “Doesn’t look good.”

“Something’s happened,” Dean muttered and they stepped out, walking towards the pair.

“You handle the kid, I’ll talk to the mom,” Sam ordered. As soon as they drew close enough, he called out. “Hey. Everything alright?”

The woman looked close to tears as she cast a helpless look up at them. “My younger son- he fell ill last night. He’s in the hospital right now and I want to go see him, but…”

Sam shot a significant look at Dean, then peered at the woman in concern. “Is it the same symptoms as the other children?”

“Yes!” She cried. “And I just, I don’t want to take Michael with me, in case he catches it too, but I can’t leave him alone for the whole day…”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Sam soothed. “Look, why don’t you go on ahead to the hospital, my brother and I can keep an eye on Michael if you want?”

The woman sighed, weighing her options. “Okay,” she said softly. “Okay, that’d be a relief. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Sam smiled kindly at her.

As soon as she left, Michael turned to Sam and Dean with a dubious look. But Dean could see a hint of terror in his eyes. There was something on his mind.

Exchanging a look with Sam, Dean dropped to a knee. “Hey, kid,” he started gently. “You got something bothering you?”

Michael met his gaze defiantly. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Dean argued mildly. 

“I just…” Michael visibly struggled, biting his lip. “I thought I saw something. In my brother’s room. I went to check on him when I heard something and…”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Dean assured. “Just tell me what you saw.”

He sighed, scuffing his sneakers against the gravel. “It was… It wore a black robe?” He sounded uncertain. “It was really thin, like a mummy or something.” He shivered, looking at Dean again. “I was… I got scared and I ran back to my room. And I almost thought it was a nightmare, but…”

Dean sighed. “Okay, look, kiddo-”

“It’s my fault. Isn’t it?” Michael whispered. “It’s my fault, I should have… I should have protected him. But… I got so scared…”

Spurred by an instinct he’d never understood, Dean looked at Sam. And suddenly, both his brother and the child looked very similar, with guilt and regret in both their eyes.

“Michael,” he said quietly. “It’s not your fault. Trust me,” he emphasized, seeing the doubt on the kid’s face. “We’re going to tell you what happened last night. But first, I need you to understand that it wasn’t your fault. And you know how I know?”

Michael raised an eyebrow, face open and hopeful.

Dean raised his eyes to meet Sam's. “Because you’re a big brother. And I’ve got a big brother too. And I know he’d do all he could to protect me.” He looked back at Michael. “But sometimes there’s just nothing that can be done, you know?” He tried to inject his voice with all the adoration and admiration that he usually tried to hide. “That doesn’t make it your fault.”

He could hear Sam’s sharp intake of breath, like the words were taking a load off his chest. Dean smiled slightly. 

“All we can do is our best,” Sam added, sounding a bit strangled. “And always look out for our little brothers.”

Dean ducked his head for a moment, trying to hide the rush of affection he felt at the words. Then he looked back at Michael, who was observing them with a furrowed brow.

“Come on, Michael. We think we might know a way to save your brother and all the other kids in town.”

* * *

The shtriga was the fugliest thing they’d ever hunted so far- that was the first thing Dean noticed. It was also weightless, which was weird because it kept him pinned down, immobile and helpless with barely any effort.

Then there were skeletal fingers pressing into his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and suddenly, Dean felt the air being sucked out of him, could feel his life force fading, his skin feeling like it was freezing over.

He was vaguely aware of someone’s shrill scream of fear, a wordless shout that was familiar through the haze… And then there was the sound of gunshots. The oppressive weight from his chest was gone. Oxygen seemed to flood back into his lungs. He gasped for it, hungrily, limbs aching and the ceiling spinning above him.

Sam’s face appeared in his vision and a large hand cupped his face. Dazed, Dean mindlessly nuzzled into the rough palm, letting the warmth seep into his cold skin.

“You okay?”

Dean managed a thumb up. He wanted to say something- _you saved me, Sammy_ \- but he was too drained and when he felt Sam’s fingers wrap around his hand, he couldn’t find the energy to stop himself from smiling. He just hoped he didn’t look as besotted as he was.

* * *

“So, just to be clear.” Dean closed the trunk and levelled a stern look at his big brother. “What happened when we were kids was not your fault. And if you still feel like blaming yourself, just remember that you saved my ass today.”

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but Dean just narrowed his eyes, and he closed his mouth to reconsider. “Okay,” he conceded in a mutter. It wasn’t exactly convincing, but at least he was trying.

Dean put on a smirk and tossed him the keys over the roof of the car. “Get in, bitch,” he snarked, walking over to the shotgun seat. “You’re driving.”

“Jerk,” Sam replied automatically, catching the keys. “You’re letting me drive without whining about it?” He shot Dean a look that was only part concern, part teasing. “Sure you’re not still feeling a little delicate?”

Dean rolled his eyes at him, but didn’t answer, pushing him away from the door so he could sit. Sam slid in behind the wheel. He looked at Dean for a long moment, smiling, as he slid the key into an ignition.

Dean smiled back and looked away. As if there was anything he wouldn’t give Sam, just to keep that look on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

It was early afternoon. The sun was shining but with the curtains drawn, the motel room seemed gloomy. It was fitting, considering the conversation being had. 

“Jess, please,” Sam said softly. “I’m telling you, I have no idea when I can come back. That’s not fair to you. And I can’t just leave my brother.”

_ “You can’t put your life on hold either!” _ Jessica insisted. _ “I’m not telling you to ditch your brother, just bring him with you, he can stay with us. He shouldn’t have to be all alone anyway, he’s too young for that.” _

Sam glanced out the window. Through a thin gap in the curtains, he could see Dean lounging against the hood of the Impala, sweet-talking some young girl who was hanging onto his every word. The smile on Dean’s face was wide, gleeful. He really was too young to be left alone and Sam had only himself to blame for it.

“He wouldn’t want to,” he spoke into the phone. “And he _is_ old enough that I can’t force him, no matter how much I want to bring him with me.” It was the truth, because now that they knew their dad was fine, there was a part of Sam that just wanted to go back to college and take Dean along, keep him safe and sheltered.

Except Dean would never want to leave hunting. And Sam couldn’t bring himself to leave again.

“And this whole mess with my dad,” he went on. “I wish I could come home to you, Jess, but I don’t want you involved in this. I… I can’t do that to you, I’m sorry.”

Jess was quiet for a long time. Sam could almost hear the realization striking her, the matter at hand that this whole conversation and- the last few had been- had been leading up to.  _ “You’re breaking up with me,’ _ she whispered.  _ “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re… You want to break up.” _

“I don’t _want_ to, Jess,” Sam protested. “But I have to. For your sake. I don’t even know when-”  _ If _ , he thought to himself. “-I’ll be coming back. And it’s not fair to string you along, making you wait for my next call.”

He knew Jess could hear the break in his voice. He could hear the hitch of her breath too.  _ “I love you, Sam,’ _ she said softly, words catching and stuttering.

“I love you too,’ Sam replied, hoping she could hear the open honesty in his voice. “And I wish I didn’t have to hurt you, Jess, but… Just, take care of yourself. Please. And remember… Remember that I love you.”

Jess didn’t say anything more. The call ended and Sam felt his heart break. He closed his eyes, pressing the phone to his mouth to hide the trembling of his lips, though there was no one around to see it. He could feel tears pricking behind his eyelids and he refused to let them fall. It was for the best, he told himself. It was for Jess.

He heard the door open. There were no sounds of footsteps, but the mattress dipped beside him.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was hesitant. “You good?”

Sam shook his head. Blinking his eyes open, he quickly swiped them with the back of his hand. “I’m fine,’ he said, getting up, forcing himself to put the phone back in his pocket. “We getting dinner?”

Dean seemed to try hard not to make a face at the non-answer. “Sure, yeah. I found the address of the art gallery we were talking about yesterday, by the way. Tomorrow after breakfast? It’s a long drive.”

“Sounds good,” Sam agreed without really listening. Absently, he reached inside his duffel, then paused. His hand closed around something. In his mind’s eye, he could see it: the velvet-lined box, the ring nestled inside it. No, he didn’t want to look at it, not right now.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was patient.

Sam held on for a second more, then withdrew his hand and straightened, grabbing his jacket from the bed instead. “Yeah, let’s go, come on.” He could see Dean linger for a moment, eyeing the duffel curiously, but after a moment, he followed Sam out.

As he drove, Sam just stared out the window, not wanting to do anything but wallow. 

Of course, Dean wasn’t about to stand for that. “So, the case,” he prompted, as he parked in front of a diner. “Any theories?”

It took Sam a few seconds to try getting his thoughts back on track. “No, but dad’s journal lists a bunch of deaths that happened in the same area."

“Any pattern?”

“Slit throats, doors locked from the inside, different ages, random time periods,” Sam recited from rote. “Nothing else.”

“So, cursed painting then?” Dean made a face, as he scanned the menu. “It’s the only thing they had in common. Some sort of valuable antique, apparently.”

“Yeah, could be,” Sam agreed, staring at the table top. “Ghost attaches itself to the painting like any other kind of source.”

The waitress came. Sam was dimly aware of Dean ordering for both of them, flirting with her on habit. He jumped when a pair of fingers snapped under his nose.

“Sam,” Dean sighed. “If you’re going to be all moody, you might as well tell me what went wrong. Don’t think I won’t call your girlfriend and ask her myself.”

Sam couldn’t hold back a wince at the word ‘girlfriend’. He couldn’t look up as he muttered, “Not my girlfriend anymore.” He swallowed. “Broke up with her.”

A brief silence fell. Sam kept staring at his hands folded on the table. He saw Dean’s hand inch across, stopping a millimetre away from touching distance.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Maybe… You sure there’s no way to fix it?’

It was a far cry from the kind but brusque  _ I told you so _ that Sam had been expecting. “What can I do? I have no idea how long this stupid quest is going to be. Dealing with everything, with my nightmares and Dad keeping us in the dark about everything. I can’t make her wait for me. And I can’t be there with her like I want to, because I don’t want to leave you and I know you would never agree to just coming with me. And either way, she almost died in a fire because of me. There’s no way I’m letting her get hurt again, but I can’t protect her from this far away.” With everything out in the open, he felt himself slump, just as their lunch arrived. 

As he picked at his food, Dean just stared, mouth half-open like he was shocked by Sam’s outburst. Silently, he fiddled with the bracelet, a sure sign that he was trying to come up with something to say. 

Sam cut him off preemptively. “Just forget it, okay?” He said, quieter now. “There’s nothing there for me, not anymore. Just… Eat. I wanna leave early tomorrow.”

Dean had a thoughtful look on his face now. But he nodded, picking up his fork instead. “I really am sorry, Sam,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Me too.”

* * *

“That is a horrible painting,” Dean announced.

Sam shot him an unamused look. “It’s an antique.”

“Yeah, I know, super expensive,” Dean agreed. “Still horrible. If paintings could kill…” He waggled his eyebrows knowingly.

Sam rolled his eyes long-sufferingly. “Isn’t that what we’re here for? The painting that does in fact kill?”

Dean made a face at him and Sam felt a little guilty; he knew Dean was just trying to get him to lighten up. 

Before he could say anything more, though, a woman’s voice spoke up behind them. “A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn’t you say?”

Sam blinked, scanning over the painting again. “Well, actually I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses.” He turned back to the woman to see a glint of interest in her eyes. “But you already knew that,” he guessed. “You just wanted to see if I did.”

“Guilty,” she admitted, with a small grin. “And clumsy. I’m Sarah Blake.” 

Sam shook her hand with a small smile. “I’m Sam. This is my brother, Dean. Uh, we’re art dealers from out-of-state.”

Sarah and Dean gave each other quick nods. Then Dean turned back to his food and Sarah looked back at Sam.

“Can I help you gentlemen with something?” She asked. “My father is in charge of the auction, but I promise I’m perfectly qualified to help you with anything.”

“I’m sure you are,” Sam assured. At least, if he thought of the case, he wouldn’t have to think about the break up. “What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?”

She frowned slightly. “Well, a lot of stuff in this room is theirs. Which is-” she huffed. “-kind of disrespectful, if you ask me. Since the last remaining member of the family hasn’t even been given a funeral yet.”

“Yeah, that does leave a bad taste in the mouth,” Sam agreed, scrunching his nose at the thought.

Sarah blinked slowly up at him, lips twitching.

Next to him, Dean clicked his tongue slightly. “We were actually wondering about this painting,” he cut in with a slightly stiff smile. “Is it on the market too?”

Sarah quickly glanced at the painting again. “It’s up for auction,” she confirmed. "But only for invited guests.”

“Something neither of you are,” a new person spoke up- an older man. He had Sarah’s eyes, Sam realized. Her father, then.

Dean opened his mouth- Sam stomped on his foot immediately, knowing he wasn’t about to say anything helpful. Dean gasped in slight pain. Sam just squeezed his elbow in warning. 

“We were just around looking around, sir,” Sam assured. “Thanks, Sarah.”

As he dragged Dean off, they heard Sarah talking to her father. “Dad, that was rude.”

“Sam, that was rude,” Dean repeated instantly, not quite shrugging Sam’s grip off. “One day, you’ll break my toes and then who’ll save your ass?”

“Hey, I saw that look on your face and the guy did not need an actual reason to kick us out,” Sam told him. “Last thing we need is security on our tails.”

“Whatever. B&E tonight?”

Sam read the signboard as they passed it. “Yeah, it’ll have to be tonight. Auction’s set for only two days.”

Dean, excited as always at the prospect of vandalism, did a fist-pump. Sam grabbed his wrists and gently pulled it back down.

“Maybe wait till we’re back in the motel room before getting excited about doing something illegal?”

“You’re no fun, Sammy,” Dean lamented. But he let himself be dragged the rest of the way to the car.

* * *

Breaking in and stealing the painting had been ridiculously easy. For such a highly priced auction, the security was crap. Or maybe the brothers were just really good at it. As a (former?) hopeful lawyer, the thought made Sam want to break out in hives.

As they watched the painting burn, the silence of the night broken only by the crackling of embers, Dean was the first to speak. “We should go back to the auction tomorrow.”

Sam half-glanced at him, scuffing the loose mud with the toes of his boots and kicking the strewn leaves and twigs into the fire- it was an old habit, for whenever he had a lot on his mind. “Why? Painting’s gone,” he said listlessly.

Dean shrugged. “I think I dropped my wallet inside. It’s too risky to go back in now.”

Sam just shot him a look.

He sighed. “Okay. Fine. I wanna check out more of the snacks. Plus,” he added quickly. “There might be other cursed stuff. We should make sure.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t think we should risk it unless we absolutely have to. Mr Blake might kick us out.”

“His daughter won’t let him!”

Sam peered at Dean. He looked a little frustrated. 

Dean took a breath. “Alright. Sarah. She liked you. I think you should at least go back and say goodbye to her.”

Sam blinked in confusion, thinking about the woman they’d met in the morning. “We don’t usually say goodbye to witnesses.”

“Yeah, but-” Dean struggled with himself for a minute. “She’s hot, yeah? And she’s smart. Exactly your type."

‘Dean, I just broke up with Jess, I am not going to hook up with someone.”

“So just talk to her! You need a distraction and I can’t deal with your bitchy ass for more than 24 hours.”

“Why would I talk to someone else when you’re right here?” Sam tested. “I’ve got you, I don’t need another person to cry to. And if I can listen to your stupid music, you can put up with my bitching.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple times, like the words were beyond his comprehension. An odd expression crossed over his face before he sighed. “Humor me,” he pleaded.

Sam stared at Dean.

Sure, Sarah was nice, he conceded, and seemed like someone he would get along with. But it was only a flat acknowledgment; he couldn’t muster up any desire for something more. How could he, when Jess had been at the forefront of his mind since he’d spoken to her? 

But Dean was looking up at him with his eyes wide and beseeching and Sam’s heart gave a little jolt. The last time Dean had looked anything like that, it had been because he was begging Sam not to leave. Sam hadn’t listened then. He could do this at least. 

“Alright,” he agreed softly. “We’ll come back tomorrow to say goodbye.” He looked back at the fire. “But I mean it: I don’t need someone else when I’ve got you.”

Dean looked away too. Sam decided not to call him out on it.

* * *

The next morning, Sarah Blake was as lovely as Sam remembered. She smiled brightly when she saw him and Sam returned it with guilt in his stomach.

“Sam! Hi,” she greeted.

“Hey.” Sam fidgeted nervously, hiding his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He nodded at the broker she’d been talking to.

“Oh, no, _thank you_ ,” Sarah insisted. “He was boring- you’re much better company.”

Sam blushed ridiculously, ducking his head to hide it. Not that it worked- he could practically hear Dean’s eyes roll.

“I think I dropped my wallet,” he announced loudly. “I’ll just… Uh, go and look for it.” He walked off quickly.

Sarah watched Dean go, her gaze calculating. “So, what can I do for you, Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “Thanks, but… We’re leaving town, actually. We just… I came to say goodbye, I guess.”

Disappointment flit through her eyes before she covered it up expertly. “I see.” She nodded. “Well, I’m glad you dropped by. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Uh, well, no, we…” Sam was about to make up some lie, but then his gaze zeroed in on the movers carrying a painting past them. “OH MY GOD!”

Sarah jumped at the sheer panic in his voice. “What?!”

“The- uh, that painting…” Sam caught himself. tearing his eyes away from the artwork they'd burned the night before. “... is so good!”

This time, Sarah looked at him like he was crazy. “If by ‘good’, you mean ‘really ugly’, then yeah.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Um, right. Sorry, could you tell me anything about it?”

“It just got sold,” she told him, sounding unhappy. “I tried to tell my father to wait, but…” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s an old thing, a commissioned portrait of a founding family. After their massacre, it was sold and resold several times. That’s all I know.”

“Massacre, huh?” That part hadn’t been in the journal. “Uh, you know what, Sarah, I think we’re gonna be here for a little while longer after all.”

Sarah looked confused, but pleased all the same. “Glad to hear it.”

“Uh, just, I’ll get back to you later.” He offered her a little wave, then turned away, weaving through the crowd for his brother. He found him salivating over hors de vours. “We have a problem,” he hissed.

“I’ll say.” Dean looked at the snack plates with sorry. “What now?”

Sam turned him by the shoulders so he was facing the painting. “It’s back.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Great,” he said empathetically. “Human remains then? Probably stashed somewhere?”

“We gotta find out where the family is buried.”

“Sam, that painting isn’t famous enough for you to find that information on the net,” Dean pointed out.

“No, but we know it has to be the subject,” Sam reminded. “Which is the founding family of this town. Which means public library.”

Dean made a face. “On second thought, let’s check the internet once.”

* * *

As it turned out, the computer was no help. So the library it was. Before they could do more than get up from the too-small table, there was a knock on their motel room door, fast and forceful.

Sam waited for Dean to grab his gun before opening. To his surprise, it was Sarah who pushed past him inside, visibly shaken, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with terror.

“What the hell is going on?” She demanded, before Sam could ask the same thing. “You guys have been so interested in that wretched painting, and now, its new owner is dead in her living room.”

Sam tried to hide his own gun before she spotted it.

Too late; she went utterly still, staring at the firearm, quickly glancing at Dean as if to check whether he had one too. “You have guns,” she whispered, uncertainly.

Sam held his hands up to show they were empty at the moment. “Sarah, just… Calm down. Tell us what happened and I promise we’ll explain. You said someone else is dead?”

Sarah took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. “I know the- knew the woman. She was an older woman, she’d invited me over for tea this evening. I had a key, I let myself in, and-” She shuddered, closing her eyes. “Her throat was slit.”

_ Just like the others, _ Sam thought, exchanging a glance with Dean. “And she had the painting,” he surmised. “Okay, Sarah? This is going to sound crazy.”

Her laughter was nervous, close to hysterical. “Oh, you don’t say.”

“That painting is cursed,” he told her, trying to be gentle without sounding coddling. “Our guess is the ghost of one of the family members of the original owner is attached to it and is killing anyone who currently owns it.”

Sarah blinked. “Of course. Why the fuck not?”

Sam had to hold back a chuckle at that- he had a feeling she wasn’t the type of person to curse a lot. “I know this sounds crazy,” he consoled. “But… This stuff is basically our family business.”

“Family business,” she repeated slowly. Then she sighed. “Okay. I am not going to be able to sleep until this is over. So come on.”

Sam immediately caught her by the elbow as she began to move past him. “Wait a minute, woah, Sarah. It’s really way too dangerous for you to come with us. Just tell us what happened and we’ll take care of it.”

Sarah gave an incredulous snort. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing that slit throat and all the blood. My dad and I sold that painting. I, personally, oversaw the packaging and delivery. The hell I’m not coming with you.” On that note, she strode out the room.

Dean watched her leave with a slightly awed look. He’d been silent this whole time, but now he turned to Sam with a serious expression. “Dude. Marry her.”

Sam almost smiled, but then the words brought back the thought of the ring box in his bag and, with it, his conversation with Jessica. God, he’d been almost successful at not thinking about it. “Let’s just go,” he muttered, pretending not to see the confusion flashing through Dean’s face.

* * *

“Alright,” Sam sighed, as he tossed the last book onto the library table. “Long story short: the whole family was cremated.”

Dean exhaled heavily, scratching his head in thought. “Then what’s the mausoleum for?” He asked. 

“Could be for the descendants?” Sam suggested, twirling his pencil. “Mausoleums were intended for multiple generations.”

“Or other belongings,” Sarah spoke up. She’d been glancing between the both of them all this time, her gaze curious and sharp. Now she focused on the notes. “Some mausoleums only contained prized possessions or fabrics, sometimes locks of hair. I mean, if you’re looking for human remains…” She trailed off, looking unsure.

Sam gave her a tiny grin. “Looks like we know our next stop.”

Dean pushed off the table. “Okay, I’ll get the car ready. You guys pack it up here.” He gave them both a wink. “Don’t do anything the librarian would disapprove of.”

As he hurried out, Sam gave Sarah an apologetic smile. “My little brother never learned subtlety.”

“It’s alright,” Sarah assured, but her tone was off. “You know you guys are way too comfortable with this whole situation, right?”

“Like I said, family business.” Sam started clearing up the table, if only so he didn’t have to look at her. “Not the first time we’ve had to look for human remains. Definitely won’t be the last.”

“And to think, that ten hours ago, I was stressing about whether or not I should ask you to dinner,” Sarah huffed.

Sam stopped, blinking owlishly at her. “You… You were?” He silently cursed the blush he could feel on his cheeks again.

“Uh-huh.” She was obviously having fun with how flustered he must look. “Haven’t changed my mind on it either.”

With a sudden swoop of his stomach, her amusement reminded him of Jess’ fond exasperation. “Seriously?” He asked, dubious, trying to banish the thoughts of the day they'd first met, almost 3 years ago. “Even with the grave damage and desecration?”

“Well, it’s scary,” she admitted. “But… You’re saving people, Sam. You’re a hero. That’s not exactly a flaw.”

Sam ducked his head down to hide his reluctant smile. “You’re a great person, Sarah,” he said quietly. “And I like you, and I’d love to be spend more time with you…”

Sarah had a knowing look in her eyes. “But…?”

Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… Got out of a relationship. Like, two days ago. Because of this life I’m leading. It’s dangerous. No one should ever have to deal with it and I couldn’t do that to her.”

Sarah immediately grew concerned, all flirtations dropping. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Was there… Doesn’t she know? About all this?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “This life is the stuff of nightmares and she’s already gotten hurt because of it. She almost died.” He looked up from the pencil he was playing with, meeting her eyes firmly. “And I’m sorry I got you caught up in all this too. But after this is over, you’ll never see us again. Hopefully, you’ll never have to face something like this again. And even then- there’ll be nights when you won’t be able to sleep.”

He paused, then smirked lightly to himself.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Sam shook his head, bemused. “My dad- they’ve always tried to tell me that being a part of this life means that I can’t ever make friends. And the last couple months, Dean’s been telling me the same. And I didn’t want to listen, you know? All this time, I've been trying to balance Jess and college with hunting, but… Truth is, they’re right. As long as I’m on the road, I can’t have connections with normal people.”

Sarah looked sad for him. “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

Sam shook his head quickly. “Oh no, not really,” he was quick to assure. “I’ve got Dean- he’s…” He smiled fondly. “He makes it all easier to bear.”

She hummed. “About Dean…”

“What about him?”

“Just… He’s your little brother?”

Sam felt his hackles raise a bit. “Yeah.”

She seemed to sense the change in him, because she raised both hands in a placatory motion. “Sorry, it’s just… You guys seem close. I thought maybe…”

“We’ve always been close.”

“I get that now,” Sarah agreed. “Growing up the way you must have, it’s probably expected. It’s just that… Before, I thought you guys were… Not brothers.”

It wasn’t the first time people had assumed something else about himself and Dean. But something about the way Sarah was saying- hesitant and careful- made Sam want to get defensive in a way he had never before.

“Like… Partners?” He tried. “I mean… We are hunting partners.” It was half-hearted.

Sarah looked at him with something close to pity. “I thought you were lovers, Sam,” she whispered.

Maybe it was just the way she said it, but the impact of that word was shocking. Sam felt his stomach drop, heart freezing in his chest as he frantically ran through all his normal interactions with Dean since he’d gotten back on the road- hell, even in the few months before Stanford. Why would Sarah think that? She’d spent more time with them than any other witness on any other case, so she shouldn’t have that idea anymore. So why…?

“No!” He managed to stutter out. “No, I… I wouldn’t…” It was probably irrational, but he got the sinking feeling that this was his fault somehow. “I wouldn’t… He’s my brother, he’s just my little brother.” He was dimly aware of Sarah’s harried voice instructing him to breathe, her hands gripping his elbows, but his airway felt constricted, and fuck, he was having a panic attack, why was he-?

“Hey, what’s taking so- Sam!”

Sam’s eyes snapped open, unaware of when he’d closed them in the first place.

Dean walked towards the table quickly. His eyes were wide and alarmed and so very green, his features twisted into worry, hands reaching out to hold Sam's elbows, gripping so tightly that it hurt a little. Miraculously, Sam caught his breath again. But there was also a little nugget of guilt and confusion as he tried to make sense of Sarah’s words. It was the guilt that threw him for a loop- what did he feel guilty for?

For loving his brother? Or for loving him too much?

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, voice firm.

Sam pushed him off. “Nothing,” he said, breathing hard. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Sam slid his hands in his pockets as he slowly walked up to Sarah. “You alright?”

She heaved a sigh. Even under the morning sun, she looked pale, tired. “I’ll probably have trouble sleeping for a while, but…” She smiled wanly. “I’ll get over it.” 

For once, Sam wasn’t oblivious to the regret and disappointment in her eyes as she gazed up at him. He managed a small smile anyway. “I’m sorry about that, for all of it,” he told her sincerely. “And… For what happened earlier. You didn’t deserve me freaking out on you like that. It was just… A misunderstanding.” 

“Misunderstanding?” Sarah glanced over his shoulder, to where Dean was standing by the car, far enough to give them privacy.

“Misunderstanding,” Sam repeated with a nod.

In the back of his mind, he knew he was taking the coward’s way out by pushing the topic to the back burner, but what else could he do? He just… He didn’t have it in him right now to work through all the reasons why people thought he and Dean were… Not-brothers.

No, that was definitely a subject to be tackled another day, maybe when he was alone with research and Dean was at a bar.

Sarah accepted his words with a tilt of her head. "Take care of yourself, Sam. And him.”

“I always do,” he promised and that, at least, was true. “Take care, Sarah.” He didn’t look back as he joined Dean.

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get outta here.”

“We could stay, if you want?” Dean offered. “Or… You know, maybe I could try talking to Jessica…”

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment. Something softened in his chest, knowing that Dean was willing to put aside his aversion to staying in any one place for too long should Sam wish to remain. It was a familiar feeling, one he always associated with Dean. He hadn’t been lying to Sarah about that- Dean had always been the one thing that made this life seem a little better. And that was all there was to it. That was that there could ever be to it.

“I’ll be fine,” he told Dean. It was, surprisingly, not a lie.


	7. Chapter 7

At first, Dean wasn’t sure what he was more upset about: Dad not checking in yet, or Sam’s attempt at running into fire. Now, as he watched Sam pace, it became clear. Forget upset, he was so fucking pissed at Sam.

All of a sudden, Sam was whirling around on him, teeth grit. “I could have had him!” He snapped. I could’ve ended this thing once and for all!” His voice rose to a shout. “Why the hell did you stop me?”

“The whole thing was burning to the ground, it was suicide!” Dean spoke coolly.

“I don’t care!” Sam looked close to hysteria. “I don’t care, Dean! That thing killed mom, it almost killed Jess- it has to die!”

“Well, I care!” Dean yelled back, getting to his feet. “Look, I know getting revenge has been the most important thing in our whole lives, but if that means you getting dead in the process, then I hope we never find the damn thing!”

“And let 18 years of our life spent hunting it go to waste?” Sam shook all over. “Dean. It needs to die.”

Dean felt the fight go out of him. “What’s the point?” He asked. “Even if we do ever manage it… You said it yourself, Sam.”He knew he should shut up, but the residual fear of nearly losing Sam to another fire was robbing his sense of self-preservation. “Mom’s gone. And she’s not coming back.”

He could see the second Sam lost it, lunging at Dean and shoving him against the wall. His grip on Dean’s shirt tightened and twisted as he leaned in threateningly. “How could you say that?” He growled. “You’re the one that’s been holding the damn flag leading this whole thing- don’t you dare say that, not after everything we’ve done to get this far!”

The back of his head throbbed, but Dean couldn’t pay attention to that. Instead, he watched the way Sam’s anger slowly crumpled away into so many other emotions. “I couldn’t risk it- I can’t lose you,” Dean whispered, aware that he was quite possibly saying too much, that his face was too easy to read. “You’re… You and Dad… You’re all I have.” He felt torn open, his defenses torn to shreds by terror.

Sam swallowed heavily, leaning forward. For a wild and foolish second, Dean expected to be kissed. But Sam just pressed his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, breathing in deeply. 

All Dean could do was close his eyes, placing his hand-  _ fuck, why was he shaking?- _ along the curve of Sam’s neck. “Please don’t leave me,” he begged weakly, half-hoping it wouldn’t be heard.

But Sam’s pulse sped up beneath his fingertips, even as his breathing calmed down. “Okay,” he said softly and Dean froze at the touch of warm lips to his jaw as Sam pulled back. “Okay, Dean.” He stayed close though.

Dean felt trapped, crowded against the wall with Sam pressed against him. Sam was staring at him, suddenly looking confused as he leaned imperceptibly closer, almost helplessly, as if pulled towards Dean by gravity.

Dean’s heart hammered wildly as his hand slid down, palm resting upon Sam’s chest. “Sam?” His own voice sounded pathetic to him.

“I’m here.” Sam laid his hand over Dean’s. “I’m here.”

Dean closed his eyes, swallowing. He couldn’t handle this right now- there was  _ no time  _ to handle this right now. Gently, but firmly, he pushed Sam off him and walked a few steps past him, of only to compose himself so his stupid fucking feelings weren’t so transparent. “Dad should have called in by now, man, seriously.”

Sam took a moment to answer. “I’m gonna call him,” he said decisively. He went to the table and Dean turned to see him put the phone to his ear. Then the blood drained from his face.

“It’s Meg,” he mouthed to Dean.

* * *

Sam grunted under their father’s weight, shifting as Dean transferred his own hold. 

“I’ll get the car,” he said, not waiting for Sam’s affirmation. He ran as fast as he could, not as injured as Sam. He didn’t let himself feel relief- sure, dad was with them, but who knew what the demons had put them through. And he was still thinking of Meg, the poor girl who’d died for nothing but a black-eyed bitch’s fancies.

But when he drove the car back, he saw Sam pinned to the road by a demon who was using him as a punching bag. The fear and worry and pain of the last fuck-knew-how-many hours suddenly cumulated. Dean didn’t second-guess, didn’t even think, just drew the Colt and squeezed the trigger, aim as true as ever.

Orange lightning lit up the demon from the inside. Going limp, he was pushed off to the side by Sam, whose face was a mess of blood and gravel.

“You okay?” He called out, thankful that his voice was even, dispute the way his breath stuttered in his chest.

Sam coughed, sitting up after a few failed attempts at getting off the ground. “Fine,” he wheezed out, wiping his face ineffectually. “Dad is… Come on.” Dean helped him get steady on his feet, then they both jogged over to where their father was propped up against the wall of the building.

As they shouldered his weight again and headed for the car, Dean took a last look at the body left on the pavement. The demon was dead, but so was the vessel. Dean couldn’t muster up any regret, even knowing that Dad was probably going to be pissed.

They drove for about an hour until they found a rundown cabin with clear signs of abandonment. As Sam handled the reading, Dean stumbled over to the rickety cot, laying dad down on it. He seemed okay, heartbeat steady, breaths even, skin warm and no visible injuries.

Hopefully, he’d wake up soon.

Dean went to the other room, needing solitude for a moment before Sam tricked him into talking about his angsty silence.

Sure enough, Sam came in and zeroed in on Dean. “Dad?”

Dean nodded blankly. “Should wake up soon.”

“Good,” he replied softly. After a brief silence, he spoke again. “You saved my ass back there.” He sounded like he was smiling slightly. “Again.”

Dean couldn’t return the smile. Closing his eyes instead, he said, “I killed that guy. He was a human… But I saw you getting hurt and-” he rubbed his hand over his face. “I didn’t even think twice. It just… Scares me, ya know? The things I’d do for you and dad.”

An arm wrapped around his shoulders. Again, Dean wanted to bristle at being handled like a child in need of coddling, but the comfort was too sweet to pass up.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said sadly.

“Not your fault.” Dean knew his brother was probably blaming himself again.

“Boys.”

Both of them straightened, turning to see John Winchester standing shakily, watching them with worry etched into his features.

“Dad,” Dean sighed in relief. Internally, he also geared up to defend himself.

“Heard what you just said,” Dad said softly. “You did good, Dean. You watched out for this family, you always have.”

Dean blinked, then flushed, confused, but reluctantly glad. “But we’ve only got one bullet left.”

“Then we better make it count,” Dad said simply. Just then, the wind suddenly picked up outside. The lights began to flicker. Dad frowned, all of them tensing. “Sam, go do the salt lines.”

“I already have,” Sam assured.

“Go check on them anyway,” Dad snapped. “Now.”

Sam didn’t argue, hurrying out of the room with a grim look. Dad turned to the window, peering out of it. “Dean, you got the gun?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean started to say. “It’s in my-” The bulb above his father flickered off, leaving the room half in shadow. He froze. Something was very wrong here.

John glanced back at him. “Dean. The gun.”

Dean shook his head, skin crawling all of a sudden. “You should be pissed,” he spoke slowly. “Dad would be pissed. He’d kill me for wasting a bullet.” 

“You needed it to save Sam,” John reminded him. Either way, we still have one left and we’re gonna have to use it now. Give me the gun.”

Dean shook his head, drawing the Colt. “You’re not my dad.” The click of the safety sounded louder than it should.

John turned to face him completely, hands raised with the palms facing Dean. “Dean,” he spoke evenly. “It’s me.”

“No,” Dean whispered, fighting to keep his hand steady.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” John snapped, losing patience. “That demon could be knocking on our doorstep right now and you’re pointing that gun at  _ me _ ?”

It was a convincing act and Dean almost lowered his gun. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the extinguished light had been a coincidence. But Sam stepped in then and immediately froze at the sight that greeted him.

“Dean?” He called in a careful voice and Dean’s confidence returned. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother’s gone mad, Sam,” John growled.

“Dean?”

"That’s not dad, Sam,” Dean insisted. I think he’s possessed. I think he’s been possessed since we rescued him from the hospital.”

“Don’t listen to him, Sam,” John said warningly.

But Sam was already moving, shifting to Dean’s side, staying half a step in front of him, one hand twisting in Dean’s jacket, ready to yank him back if required. “Dean, how do you know?” He asked.

“I… I don’t know!” Dean felt his fear spike again. “It’s just a feeling. He’s different!”

“Look, we don’t have time for this.” John turned to Sam. “Son, you wanna kill this demon, you have got to trust me.”

Sam looked down at Dean. Dean didn’t take his eyes away from his target, but he could feel that Sam had already made his choice.

“No,” Sam said quietly.

John let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “So this is it, huh?” He asked, sounding bitter. “You won’t believe me.” He paused, looking down and- there was a glint of pale yellow. “Pity. I was having fun.”

Dean had just enough time to blink, before he felt himself flung back, hitting the wall with enough force to make him dizzy. He heard Sam yell too, and the clatter of the Colt hitting the ground.

Dean was frozen, not by fear, but by power, helpless as the thing wearing his father’s body examined them with a predatory glint in his eyes. “I wouldn't worry too much, boys,” he drawled. “Daddy’s in here, alright. Watching. And he can’t do a damn thing.”

“We tested you,” Dean rasped against the invisible force that was squeezing his throat. “At the hospital.”

The demon chuckled. “What, holy water and a few words of Latin? You think that kid stuff works on someone like me?”

He came closer, until Dean could smell the sulphur mingling with his dad’s scent of leather and cigarette smoke.

“Don’t!” Sam’s voice rang out loudly, furious and hateful.

Yellow Eyes looked genuinely amused. “You can’t stop me, Sam.”

Sam glared. “Trust me: you touch him and I will tear you apart!” He snarled.

“Oh, really, psychic boy?” He mocked. Grinning, he stooped to pick up the Colt, laying it on the table. “Go ahead then.” He nodded at it. “Try to use it with your mind. And while you do that, just to motivate you…”

He turned back to Dean, tilting his head with a menacing glint in his eyes. “Daddy’s screaming inside, Dean.” He placed a palm on Dean’s chest. “But we both know-” His fingertips pressed through the layers of fabric. “That he doesn’t really care. “Dean screamed in pain, as blood spurted from his chest, the demon’s fingers digging in.

He was vaguely aware of Sam yelling his name, but the hot white bursts of agony made it hard to think and his vision was filled with yellow… 

“That’s it, keep crying, boy,” Yellow Eyes murmured, almost soothing. “Your dad can see and hear you just fine.”

_ Dad, _ Dean thought dimly. Screwing his eyes shut, tears slipping free, he found the strength to talk through the pain. “Dad!” He sobbed, voice breaking. “Dad, don’t let him kill me. Don’t you let him kill me, Dad, please!”

Like a cloth lifting from his eyes, his vision cleared for a second, going sharp with clarity, before turning hazy. The pain receded.

“Dean,” he heard his dad whisper. 

But his legs gave away and there was no psychic power to keep him from crumpling to the ground, shivering with blood loss. He watched through slitted eyes as Sam lunged for the gun, aiming at their father in one smooth motion.

“Do it,” John ordered. “Do it, shoot me, now, Sam.”

“No,” Dean croaked, trying to sit up. “No, Sam… Sammy, no.”

“Listen to me, I can’t hold him for much longer,” John said forcefully. “Shoot me. You shoot me in the heart, Sam!” He bellowed.

“Sam…”

Sam grit his teeth, his arm lowering slightly. In the second of hesitation, John’s body arched up, jaw forced open as a cloud of black smoke escaped and disappeared.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then there were hands on him, one flat on his stomach, one running through his hair. 

“Dean? Hey, c’mon, stay with me.”

Dean grasped at one wrist. “Dad,” he gasped. “Sam, check on dad. Is he…?”

Sam hummed. “Dad’s fine, Dean. You need the hospital.”

Dean groaned. “Don’t wanna.”

“Well, tough.”

He felt himself being lifted, the ground swaying as Sam carried him bridal style- if he wasn’t so dazed, he’d be blushing.

Sam lay him out in the backseat of the car, muttering, “Stay here, I’m getting Dad.”

The familiar feel of the Impala felt safe and his eyes drifted close. When they opened again, they were driving. He could make out Sam in the rearview mirror, eyes flint hard and fixed on the road. Dad was in the shotgun seat, looking angry.

“You were supposed to shoot me, Sam,” he was saying. 

“Oh, yeah, because it’s so easy to kill my father,” Sam sniped back. “Because that’s what would have happened, dad, and you can’t ask that of me.” He glanced at Dean in the mirror and his face tightened. “Hospital’s not too far.”

Dad shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Today might have been our one and only chance to kill this thing, Sam. Sacrifice is in order.” He paused, seemingly studying the side of Sam’s face. “I thought we were on the same page on this- killing this demon comes before everything.”

Sam looked at Dean again. This time, their eyes held.

“No, sir,” Sam breathed out, not before everything.”

Dean closed his eyes again, smiling faintly.

“Look, we still have the one bullet,” Sam went on, hopefully focusing on the road again. "We found him before, we’ll find him again. But right now, we need to regroup and once Dean-”

That was the last thing Dean heard before something slammed into the car, his head hitting the window, and everything went black.


	8. Chapter 8

In the eerie silence that followed, Sam’s vision swam. He could hear the footsteps that suddenly seemed loud, approaching the car. Fumbling, fighting for breath, he searched for a weapon. When the door was wrenched open, a pair of black eyes was met by the muzzle of the Colt.

“Get back.” Sam’s voice was a rasp, but he managed to sound threatening. “Or I will kill you, I swear to god.”

“You wouldn’t,” the demon said in a low voice. “You’ve only got one bullet left.”

Sam sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to, but if he did, he wouldn’t hesitate. He cocked the gun back, keeping it leveled at the meatsuit’s chest. “You wanna bet?”

With a blink and a step back, there was a cloud of black smoke. The driver of the truck came to his senses, staring dumbfounded at the wreckage. “Did- fuck, did I do this? Are you okay, are- shit, I gotta- ambulance…”

Sam tuned him, head falling back against the seat. “Dad?” He called in a groan. “Dad?” No answer. Sam’s eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. “Dean.”

His brother didn’t answer, didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

Sam lost his remaining composure. “DEAN!”

* * *

Sam wasn’t entirely sure how he’d reached the hospital- he had a vague memory of someone’s hands on his chest and ignoring his pleas for answers about his family- but that didn’t matter. As soon as they told him he was only marginally injured, he brushed off the nurse attending to him and strode off in search of Dean. It was easy enough.

Sam felt his knees go weak, leaning against the doorframe for support as he took in the sight of his brother. His brother- who Sam had helped learn to walk and then to learn Latin. His brother- who used to stand up on chairs during arguments because it was the only way he could be taller than Sam. His brother- larger than life and so damn resilient to everything life threw at them- now lying in a hospital bed with countless tubes and wires pushed into him.

“Dean,” he whispered, eyes watering.

Like a trigger pulled, Dean’s body began to tremble, the heart monitor going crazy.

Sam’s eyes widened, lurching forward on his feet to reach Dean, but he was overtaken by doctors rushing in, gathering around the bed in a flurry of practiced moments.

“No, no, no, Dean,” Sam chanted under his breath. “No, please, come on, come on…”

As if in answer to his pleas, Dean’s body stilled again, the heart monitor calming down. Sam could hardly think past the relief, as the doctors assured him that it was a normal occurrence. Once they were gone, he approached the bed. He hesitated to touch him. Dean looked so frail, like he’d break under the slightest press of fingers.

“Stay with me, Dean,” Sam murmured. “Just hang on. I’ll get you out of here.” He’d saved Dean from a bad heart once, he could damn well do it again, consequences be fucked.

Turning away reluctantly, he found Dad’s room next.

John Winchester was awake and trying hard not to be annoyed at the nurse administering him drugs.

He focused on Sam immediately. “Are you okay?” He asked, sitting up somehow. “Is Dean okay?”

“Doctors say he’s not doing great,” Sam said. “He hasn’t even woken yet. But, uh…” He shook his head. “I’ll find something for him. What about you?”

Dad shot a dirty glare at the nurse as she left. “Just a little banged up, but they want to keep me here under observation.” He paused. “Did you take care of the insurance? And the Colt?”

“Yeah, I took care of it, Dad, and the Colt is safe. I’ve hidden it.” He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Relax, okay? You need to rest.”

Dad shook his head. “Two of us are out for the count and don’t think I can’t see that it’s hurting you to be walking around. If there was ever a time to attack us…” He trailed off. “Here, I’ve made a list.” He handed a piece of paper to Sam. “Get it to Bobby, ask him to bring everything on it.”

Sam read it over with a frown, trying to understand the spell. “I don’t recognize these,” he said. “What’s it for?”

“Protection spell. Heavy duty stuff.”

Nodding, Sam folded the list carefully. “Bobby’ll be here soon. I’ll go meet him.”

“Check on Dean again,” Dad added.

Sam stilled, then scoffed, nerves too frayed to ignore it. “After eighteen years, you really think you need to tell me that?” He asked coolly. “I mean, I know I was a disappointment when it came to hunting, but I do know how to look after my brother.”

Dad raised an eyebrow, temper visibly flaring. “Didn’t seem to stop you from leaving him,”’ he replied.

Sam felt the words like a punch to his stomach and he took a physical step back. “Because this is so much better, is it,” he snarled. “On the verge of dying for the second time in a year, all because of your obsession.”

Dad sighed, closing his eyes tiredly. “Just… Go to Bobby, Sam,” he said wearily.

_ He can’t even look at me _ , Sam thought bitterly. Pressing his lips tightly, he left the room. Bobby met him in the parking lot.

“Impala’s towed back to my place,” he said gruffly. "Not sure how much of her is left. Gotta be honest, I don’t think she can be fixed. Not without a lot of money that can’t be faked.”

Sam shook his head, fingers twitching with the urge to bite his nails. “If there’s any chance of salvaging it, it’s worth the money. Otherwise, Dean really will have a heart attack.”

Bobby chuckled. “You got that right.” His eyes roved over Sam carefully. “How are you doing?”

Sam pursed his lips, then shrugged. “I need to figure out a way to save Dean,” he said and it was the closest thing to an answer that he could give. “Dad’s got a protection spell for us in the meantime. You think you could get these ingredients?”

Bobby looked over the list quickly, then shook his head. “Sam,” he said quietly, almost gentle. “This ain’t a protection spell, boy. It’s a summoning. For a demon- a Greater Demon.”

Sam didn’t think, just ran back up the stairs, practically flying into his father’s room with his face set in rage. “Summoning a demon?!” He growled.

Dad huffed, but looked determined. “Sam… You have to trust me, alright? I have a plan.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Sam roared, his own voice unfamiliar to him. “Dean is dying and  _ you  _ have a plan! You care more about killing this demon than saving your son.”

“This is our only chance, Sam!” John snapped. “For once, stop arguing and just do what I tell you-”

“-even when I called you before, begged you to come help me save Dean, you still couldn’t be bothered to-”

The tray full of meds clattered to the floor. 

Both of them fell quiet, staring at the scattered pills and the metal plate.

_ Did I do that? _ Sam wondered, remembering the anger that had helped him push a dresser without his hands, because he’d had a vision of Dean being shot. But his headache wasn’t there right now and he couldn’t feel the tremble in his hands that was usually there and… 

Dad was looking at him with a careful blankness that irked him in a completely different way.

Sam shook his head. “You know what, Dad?” He said quietly, backing out of the room. “Go to hell. I’m saving my brother.”

Without a look back, he headed out, passing Bobby on the way. He needed to go shopping.

Twenty minutes later, he was back in Dean’s room. It felt cooler than it should and Sam’s suspicions were confirmed. “Alright, Dean,” he muttered, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “If you’re here, then, uh… I think I have a way for us to talk. Just-” He huffed, trying to sound lighter. “-don’t be an ass about it.”

Setting up the Ouija board, picturing the eye-roll Dean would give him, he placed his fingers on the pendulum and waited, hoping that his hunch was right. “Dean? You here?”

His fingertips chilled and the pendulum moved to  _ YES. _

Sam felt his sigh of relief down to his bones. “Oh man, Dean,” he said, blinking up at the ceiling to hide his tears. “It’s good to hear you.” He swallowed, trying to get his mind back on track. “Okay, listen, just, uh… Hang on, okay?” That sounded stupider out loud. “I’m going to find a way to save you. So just, don’t let go, yet.”

The pendulum moved.  _ H… U… N… T… _

Sam frowned. “A hunt? You’re hunting, in this state- are you nuts?”

_ R… E… A… P… _

Sam didn’t need the rest of the letters for the blood to drain from his face. “A reaper?” He exclaimed, hearing the hitch in his own voice. “If it’s here naturally, I can’t get rid of it. It’s drawn to death. Is it after you?”

Another  _ YES. _

Sam bowed his head to mask his frustration. “Okay,” he spoke through grit teeth. “Okay, Dean, just… Hold on, please. Give me some more time.”

For a long moment, there was nothing. When the pendulum moved, it went to the numbers.  _ O...7…. 0… 4… _

“0704? 0704, what-?” Sam blinked, the numbers clicking into place. 4th of July. He started shaking his head on instinct. “No, no, Dean, that wasn’t…” He trailed off. How would Dean know about a dream Sam had?

The pendulum started moving and Sam hurried to catch the letters.  _ R… E… A… L… _

Sam felt his stomach drop. “No,” he tried to say. Frigid air wafted over his cheek and he flinched away for a second, before trying to lean into it. “Dean…” There was nothing. No answer. The chill in the room was gone and the pendulum remained still.

Sam shook himself. He had to save Dean. He had to reread everything on reapers, find something he’d missed the last time. With a large book placed over his lap, he took the chair next to Dean’s body. But he couldn’t stop himself from holding the limp hand, pale against the blue sheets, and memories too clear to be anything but reality drifted to the forefront of his mind.

_ 07/04. Real. _

* * *

**_(FLASHBACK)_ **

Sam’s feet felt like lead as they reached the end of the fireworks. The sky lit up one last time and Dean laughed in wonder.

“Thanks, Sam,” he said again, fervently, turning to see his brother. He darted forward, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist.

Sam stumbled back a step before returning the hug. “Happy fourth of July, kiddo,” he laughed. 

Dean let go, flopping down bonelessly onto the blanket Sam had laid out earlier. Sam sat beside him, leaning back on his elbows so he could watch Dean and the stars at the same time.

“Come on then,” he said, tauntingly. “How many constellations do you know?”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t resist a challenge. “Uh, okay…” He peered up at the sky. “Orion’s Belt,” he found first, pointing. “Uh… Cassiopeia?”

Sam put on a look of disappointment as he turned to the cooler behind them. He brought out a beer for himself- a rare indulgence but tonight was meant to be fun- and a soda that he handed to Dean with a cheeky grin. “No, you doofus, that’s Eridanus. Cassiopeia is way farther away.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dean frowned at his soda. “Where’s the chick who got fed to the Kraken? Andromeda?” Then, under his breath, he added, “Geek.”

Sam lightly touched his cheek, directing his gaze to right above them. “Brat. Andromeda’s there, the bright one just up ahead.” Out here, away from the city, it was easy to spot all the patterns.

Dean nodded solemnly. “She’s hot.”

Sam flicked his nose. “Hey, you are way too young to be talking like that.”

Dean stuck his tongue out, like that didn’t just prove Sam’s point, and then made a swipe for Sam’s beer. He managed to get a few sips in before Sam, already on the way to drunk, swiped it back.

“Hey, no, no, no. Definitely too young for alcohol.” He pushed the soda to him again. “That’s yours, this is mine.”

“Spoilsport,” Dean complained, but he relinquished, copying Sam’s position.

For some time, they stayed there, lying close to each other, but not quite touching. Sam itched to feel Dean’s warmth, but refrained. Ever since hitting his teen years, Dean had gotten weird hang-ups about how he was too old to be cuddled or hugged. Sam was disappointed- he was affectionate by nature- but went with it.

“You think we can go back now?” Dean asked in a mumble.

Sam shrugged. “If you want.”

Dean yawned. “M’tired.”

Sam glanced at him with a smile, getting up and pulling his brother with him. “Still not sleeping well?” He asked knowingly.

Dean didn’t answer and Sam shook his head. Dean was obviously still not used to sleeping alone and too proud to admit it. As they walked to the car, they both staggered, Sam more so.

They caught each other, grabbing the car for balance.

“And that’s why you don’t get to drink,” Sam admonished.

Dean made a face. “You’re drunker than me,” he accused. “Are you okay to drive?”

Sam paused, swaying lightly. Dean was tipsy, but he was right- Sam had drunk more. And with how rarely he ingested alcohol, his tolerance was low- one bottle was enough to make the world spin. With a warning look at Dean, he tossed him the keys. “Drive slow.”

Dean couldn’t hide his glee as he slid behind the wheel. “Hello, Baby,” he crooned.

“You and your thing for the car,” Sam despaired, shaking his head, sitting in the passenger seat. “You remember which one’s the pedal and which is the brake?” He teased.

“Hey, I grew up in this car.”

“But are you tall enough to reach?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer. After a few minutes of careful driving, they were pulling into the parking lot of the motel. Sam smiled to himself in silent approval. Peeking out, he found the window of their dad’s single-bed room. The lights were off.

“Dad’s asleep,” he commented.

Dean just hummed. They climbed out of the car together and Sam couldn’t help wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Dean was still short, reaching only to Sam’s chest, but Sam remembered when he used to carry him around in his arms all day long.

“Growing up too fast,” he lamented, breathing the words into Dean’s hair.

Dean shivered, but didn’t reply as they entered the room. Once inside, Sam waited for him to pull away, to put distance between them. Instead, Dean seemed almost in a trance, smiling lightly as he tumbled into the same bed with him. Sam reached lazily for the TV remote, switching it on for the mindless drone at low volume.

Dean was laying half on top of him and he lifted his head slightly. “Please tell me that’s not some fancy art film,” he groaned without opening his eyes.

Sam opened one eye and grinned, turning his head to nuzzle at Dean’s temple. “It’s the history of modern day cement mixing. Apparently, there’s an ancient Roman recipe that was the first.”

Dean shook his head, laying back down on Sam’s chest, one leg swung over Sam’s. Sam smiled, sliding his hand up and down Dean’s back, enjoying the warmth seeping through their clothes and the pleasant daze of the beer.

“Sammy?”

“Hmm?” Sam turned to him, going a little cross-eyed to focus.

Dean’s face was close enough to count the freckles thrown into sharp relief by the neon light of the TV. His eyes shone cat-like in the dark, fixed on Sam with an intensity that was never there.

Sam felt something in his chest tighten. Dean was usually so distractible, it was an unusual feeling to suddenly be under his focus like this.

His train of thought was interrupted by Dean kissing him.

Sam remained frozen, shocked into non-reaction. Dean pressed closer, like he was trying to prove a point. Sam dimly realized why- Dean had no idea what he was doing. That explained it: their teeth were pressed too close, Dean’s mouth opened too wide. Before he could pull away himself, Dean did.

He looked terrified- that was the first thing Sam noticed. He sat up, sheepish and embarrassed, but didn’t say a word, as if waiting for Sam’s reaction.

Sam sat up too. “Hey,” he said softly. “That’s not how you kiss someone.” He waited for Dean to look at him before cupping his face in both hands. Then he leaned in and kissed him  _ properly. _

This time, Dean froze, but only for a second before clutching at Sam’s shirt frantically. He scrambled to get closer and Sam laughed into the kiss, helping along by grabbing his hips, pulling him into his lap. Dean straddled him easily, the position familiar from their sparring sessions. He moaned almost helplessly when Sam deepened the kiss, lips parting and making it easy for Sam to lick away the sweet-sour taste of the soda from earlier.

It felt good- great, actually- to be wrapped around Dean so completely and Sam didn’t hesitate to slide his hands under Dean’s shirt, sighing happily at the touch of warm skin. His palm flattened over the small of his back, pulling his hips closer, and Dean broke the kiss, head falling back as he gasped for breath.

Sam only took advantage of the new angle to mouth at his neck, trailing his teeth along the line of his jaw. Dean let out a choked mewl, fingers flying to Sam’s hair and tugging.

“S-Sam,” he stuttered.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Sam whispered and nipped gently at the delicate skin over Dean’s pulse. “I got you, Dean, always. I got you…” He found Dean’s lips again, kissed and bit at them as he lay back down on the pillows, pulling Dean down on top of him, rolling his hips up once in a slow grind.

Dean whimpered into his mouth and Sam could feel it in his chest. The sound cut through him and he was suddenly, startlingly, aware of both the wild energy thrumming under his own skin as well as the minute tremor running through Dean’s body.

It was that that made him gently break away, holding Dean back when he instinctively tried to close the gap again.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open. He looked dazed, a little lost. Sam’s heart hurt and he found himself lightly stroking his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone. No matter how much Dean tried to fast-track his growth, he was still a kid. Still Sam’s little brother.

“Why’d you stop?” Dean asked, sounding confused and- frankly speaking- really fucking adorable.

It made him lean up, kiss Dean’s forehead lightly. “I told you, you’re too young,” he said. “Too young for something like this. With anyone, not just me.” The thought of Dean doing this with someone else made something in Sam’s stomach twinge unpleasantly. Obviously- it was his little brother, after all. 

Dean was looking at him pleadingly. “But… But I…” His words petered off on their own.

Sam ran his hand through Dean’s hair, then curled it around the back of his neck. Unable to help himself, he pulled him in, placing one last open-mouthed kiss to his neck, briefly pressing his tongue against the hollow of his throat. “Go to sleep, Dean,” he murmured. “I got you.”

Dean seemed too tired to argue, simply burying his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam rolled them onto their sides so that Dean was tucked against him. As he closed his own eyes, curling around his little brother, he vaguely catalogued the hot spark in the pit of his stomach as arousal, before falling asleep.

* * *

Sam closed the book with a snap, letting his eyes fall shut. That night had been hazy, initially, and he’d chalked it up to a dream- pleasant in a way it shouldn’t be, but messed up and only more proof that Sam was way too attached to his brother. Definitely a dream, because Dean had never brought it up either. Probably because he was feeling embarrassed by Dad’s amusement at finding them cuddling in their sleep the next morning.

Later, the details had come back to him, slowly but clearly. Except Dean had gone back to creating distance between them, flushing when Sam hugged him too long and always maintaining a careful gap when they sat together. So, Sam had continued thinking that that night had been a figment of his overactive imagination and alcohol. Two months later, he’d left for Stanford. Dean had cried that evening, wept on Sam’s shoulder like the kid he insisted he wasn’t, and it had been the most physical contact they’d had before the ensuing separation.

All this time, Sam had been wrong.

_ Why did he never tell me? _ He wondered sadly. Had Dean blamed him? Maybe even hated him a little for taking advantage of the situation? Fuck, had Sam hurt him? He tended to prefer the rough side of sex and though he was pretty sure he’d been careful with Dean, what if he was misremembering, what if he’d done something Dean hadn’t liked and…?

Despite Sam’s tendency to blame himself, rational thinking took over. Dean had initiated the first kiss that night- Sam remembered the shyness of it with perfect clarity. And this past year that they’d been hunting together, Dean had never once flinched away from him. In fact, he leaned into Sam’s touch almost every single time. So, did that mean…?

“What are you trying to tell me, huh?” Sam whispered, reaching out to gently brush Dean’s hair into place. “Why’d you bring it up?”

Dean's eyes flew open, body arching up in a desperate inhale.

"Dean!" Sam cried, grabbing his hands. "Dean, hey, it's okay, just breathe-" He slammed the call button quickly, gripping Dean's fingers tightly. "Dean…"

Dean flayed, choking on the tube in his mouth, eyes roving about aimlessly as he struggled to breathe. 

The nurses and doctors rushed in, quickly shoving Sam to the side. It was instinct to want to punch them, fight his way back to his brother's side. But he stayed still, watching as they coaxed Dean into unconsciousness and carefully extracted the tube from his mouth. 

When they were done, Sam didn't waste a second, taking up vigil again and holding Dean's hand in his own. 

It took Dean almost fifteen minutes to start moving again. First there was a squeeze to Sam’s fingers, then his eyes fluttered open, a soft hum of discomfort escaping him as he shifted in place.

“Easy, easy,” Sam soothed. “Just breathe, alright?” He helped Dean sit up, adjusting the pillows so he could lean back against them.

Dean looked down at himself, cataloguing. “What the hell happened?”

“Yellow Eyes arranged a car accident for us, you went into a coma,” Sam stated. “You almost died, don’t… Don’t you remember anything?”

Dean frowned. “Uh, yeah, the crash.” He looked around the room, at all the monitors. “How am I even alive right now, then? I know I was really banged up.”

Sam felt something hollow open up in his chest. “You don’t remember a thing? At all?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “No. Why? And where’s Dad? Is he okay?”

Sam had to look away, tilting his head back up at the ceiling. After a few deep breaths, he said, “Dad’s fine, just a little banged up.”

Dean looked relieved. His gaze travelled up and down Sam’s body, checking him over. The relief grew at the obvious lack of bad injuries. “Alright, let’s go to him.” He deftly picked out all the needles in his arm. “Maybe he knows what happened to me.”

Sam put a hand on his chest, firmly pushing him back. “You’re not going anywhere until the doctors say you are. I’ll get Dad here.”

He didn’t have to, because John walked in right that moment, moving a little stiffly. "Dean,” he breathed out in relief. “Are you alright?”

Dean nodded. “I’m good, yeah. But Sam was…” He looked at him. “You were saying something. What was it? What happened to me?”

Sam chewed on the inside of his lips. This was a conversation he couldn’t start in front of their father. “You were dying,” he answered calmly. “We managed to communicate through an Ouija board and you told me there was a reaper after you. I was looking for a way out when you woke up.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed at him. “What else?”

Sam shook his head, meeting the gaze head on. “Nothing.”

Dean turned to Dad. “What do you think happened? How am I still breathing?”

John shrugged. “Hard-won miracle, maybe. Does it matter?”

“Look, you’re awake, that’s all that’s important,” Sam said, faintly smiling.

Dean sighed impatiently. “Fine. What now? Is there any way we can track the demon? We still have the Colt- is it safe?”

“Dean, please,” Sam interrupted. “You just woke up, from a coma that might have lasted forever,  _ please _ , just rest. Everything else can wait.”

“Not this,” John rebutted. “If Dean is all healed up- we need to get moving.” He turned to his youngest. “You feel up to it?” 

Dean nodded, because of course, he did.

“No!” Sam half-snarled, pulling Dean back and ignoring his frustrated huff. “He’s not going anywhere until he’s fully healed.”

“Sam, I am fine-”

“It’s his decision, Sam, he gets to make it. I remember you advocating that,” John reminded sternly. “You brother isn’t a child anymore.”

“Dad, stop,” Dean moaned under his breath.

“He’s never had the freedom to make his own decisions,” Sam argued. “How could he- you trained him to ask how high when you want him to jump, you let him hunt alone, and now, he almost died today!”

Dad didn’t answer- the room was silent. Dean was staring down at his hands in his lap and John was staring at Dean, sadder than Sam ever remembered seeing him.

“Can we not fight?” He asked softly. “Not now, please, Sammy, okay? Just…” He sighed. “I don’t want to fight right now.”

The gentleness in his tone made alarm bells go off in Sam’s head, replacing all the anger. “Dad?” He asked carefully. “Everything alright?”

John took a deep breath. “Just tired,” he murmured. “You think you can find me a decent cup of coffee around here? I’ll be in my room.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah. ‘Course, Dad.” He patted Dean’s knee once and, as he passed John, he couldn’t help touching his shoulder lightly for a moment, before leaving the room and heading for the cafeteria.

On the way, his mind whirled. Dean’s words as a ghost, Dad’s sudden turnabout in behaviour, Dean not remembering anything now, Yellow Eyes…

He filled a cup with coffee and started walking. He’d talk to Dad while giving him the coffee- and this time, he swore to himself, he was not going to let his temper get the better of him-and then he’d go talk to Dean, ask him what he’d meant…

He caught sight of the body on the floor out of the corner of his eye. “Dad?” He asked softly. The world started spinning. Then the coffee slipped from his grasp and he dashed to his father’s side, screaming.

He was vaguely aware of doctors appearing, shoving him towards the door, Dean appearing to catch him and stumbling under his weight. But his eyes were fixed on Dad, skin already pale and chest still as they used the defibrillators. 

_ Go to hell, dad-  _ the words spun in Sam’s head.

“Calling it,” one of the doctors announced. “Time of death- 10:41 AM.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean wasn’t really aware of anything, except his Dad’s too-still form. The doctor was talking- or maybe it was Sam- or maybe both. But all he could hear were Dad’s words to him. His last words. It felt a little like drifting through water, thick and heavy and muffling everything around him. All he could do was lean into Sam’s tight grip and try to keep himself standing.

There was a nurse speaking to them, Dean started to notice. And then there was Bobby.

“Sam,” the older hunter spoke in a low voice. “Do you want me to get Dean out of here, or would you rather I took care of the… Of John?”

He felt a hand pass over his shoulder and then someone tugged his arm- someone  _ not _ Sammy. He jerked to awareness, head whirling around to see Bobby trying to lead him away. He followed blindly, constantly looking over his shoulder was his brother, but Bobby gently sat him down on a chair and pressed a bottle of water in his hands.

Dean could feel his lips moving, but wasn’t sure of what he was saying until Bobby placed a hand on his elbow.

“Sam’s not here, Dean,” he said softly.

Dean’s head shot up, finding Bobby’s eyes. “Wh- where is he- Sam…” It felt like there wasn’t any air around him and he struggled to draw in a breath. “Sammy…”

“Sam!” Bobby yelled.

Almost immediately, there was a more familiar pair of arms pulling him to his feet, guiding him down the hallways, down the stairs, out into the sun and…

Dean turned his face up, soaking in the warmth and brightness. No tears fell, but he squeezed his eyes shut anyway, trying to think past the sudden panic trying to overwhelm him.

“It’s okay, breathe, Dean, just breathe, I got you,” Sam was saying, voice broke and hoarse, the words sounding repetitive, but somehow still calming.

“Sam,” Dean managed to say. His own voice didn’t sound much better. “What are- what are we gonna do?”

Sam swallowed hard, staring down at Dean with a gaze that seemed just a little lost. “We’ll… We have to give a proper send-off; hunter’s pyre. And then… We do what we always do. We keep going.”

But Dean thought about Dad’s last words again and, for the first time in his life, going n didn’t seem like the preferable option.

Sam hugged him close, chin resting on the top of his head. “We’re gonna be okay.”

* * *

The car was fixable, at least. Sam stayed inside with Bobby, buried in books of lore and myth. Dean stayed out, tinkering with the Impala all day long. Each time they passed each other, both would have a bottle of beer in hand.

But after returning from the clown case, Dean could feel Sam watching him, like hot lasers aimed between his shoulder blades. It made him itchy, and even a little angry, because he could clearly see that Sam was still hiding something from him. Of course, Dean had a secret too and that wasn’t really helping his mood either.

Finally, Dean threw down the wrench and turned to glare at Sam, who stood leaning against the doorframe. “What?” He snapped.

Sam looked contemplating for a moment, before he pushed off and walked towards Dean. “I just… Wanted to see how you’re doing. And if you need any help.” He gestured at the Impala.

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” Dean crossed his arms. “And no, I don’t need help. You keep looking for Yellow Eyes or the Colt.”

“I’ve looked everywhere, the demon’s laying low for now,” Sam replied, still with that soft, concerned look. “Dean… Look, I just… What I’m saying is…”

Dean clenched his hands into his tightly. “What?” He asked in a low voice.

Sam looked away at last, staring at the car instead. “You’re not alone in this,” he said. “I miss him too, you know. But we can’t sit around like this and stay miserable, okay? At least…” He gulped. “We’ve still got each other.”

Dean flinched at the words, because all they did was remind him that he might not actually have Sam for all the much longer either.  _ Look after Sammy, Dean… You have to save him… Because if you can’t…  _

He felt more than saw Sam move to hug him and took a careful step back. “Go back inside,” he said. “Please, Sam.”

Sam looked hurt at the silent rejection. “Why- Dean, just talk to me-”

“About what?!” Dean yelled, shocking himself. “About how Dad died two minutes after I woke up from a coma that was supposed to last forever? Or the fact that you’re running around looking for cases because  _ ‘dad would have wanted it’, _ as if that makes up for the fact that you were at each other’s throats even in his last minutes?” His voice grew louder and louder and his jaw hurt from how hard he was gritting his teeth. “How about the fact that we’re back to square zero with the demon gone and the Colt missing?”

Sam had stayed quiet, letting Dean talk. Now he spoke. “If Dad did something to save you, that’s on him and it was his choice. I can’t take that away from him,” he said softly. “And I’m just trying to stay busy, Dean, just like you are with that.” He looked pointedly at the dents in the car. “I’m trying to stay focused because if I don’t… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Dean wondered why he ever thought he could win an argument against his brother. “Well, let me focus then.” He picked up the wrench again, briefly considering the urge to smash it against the hood of the Impala, if only to vent his rage.

Except Sam went on. “You really think I don’t actually miss Dad? You think I don’t regret that my last words to him was an argument?”

Dean turned a cold look at him. “I think you feel guilty and are trying to make up for it,” he said callously. “But guess what, Sam? Too little, too late.”

“He was my dad too,” Sam reminded sharply.

“I know. Doesn’t change the facts.”

Sam’s fingers twitched and the second he decided to stop going easy on him was almost visible. “What did he tell you?” He demanded. “I know he said something to you after he sent me to get coffee. What was it, what did he say?”

Dean swallowed, already knowing he was lost. “Nothing. Not important.”

“Bullshit. You’re acting like I’m not the one who taught you how to sell a lie in the first place.” Sam closed the distance between them until he was right in front of Dean, glaring down at him. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

“Dean, tell me-”

“He told me I had to kill you!” Dean yelled.

Sam actually jerked back, as if Dean had swung a knife into his chest. “He… He what?”

Dean’s own chest hurt, as if he had a damaged heart again. “He told me to look out for you, that I had to  _ save  _ you. And that… If I couldn't save you… I’d have to kill you.”

For a long few seconds, Sam just stared off into space, a look of terror flickering across his features. Then, he closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean repeated. He blinked. Then he screeched, “Okay?!”

Sam frowned at the outburst. “Okay,” he said firmly. “Obviously, he was talking about my powers and that I… And I won’t let them get to a point where you’ll have to kill me. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

This was wrong, this was all wrong, and,  _ oh fuck, _ Dean couldn’t breathe again. “No. No, Sam, no, goddammit!” He bowed his head, taking quick short inhales. “You can’t- you can’t do that! You-” He looked back up with burning eyes. “You and Dad- you’re both the same, ready to sacrifice yourselves in a second- you don’t think about- you just-  _ I’m  _ the one who’ll have to bury you- I can’t-” He staggered back, leaning against the car.

Sam stepped forward and this time, Dean couldn’t move away if he wanted to. “It’s okay,” he assured soothingly. “We’ll be okay. And it comes to that, you’ll be okay after.”

Dean barely paid any heed to the words. He clutched back at Sam, trying to breathe. “Don’t leave,” he begged. “Not again, please.”

“I might have to,” Sam said, ever the pragmatic one.

Dean shook his head, fingers curling tighter until they were digging into Sam’s waist. “I won’t let you,” he whispered.

“It’s not your job to protect me.”

Dean almost scoffed.  _ Watch me. _ But he pulled away. “Come on,” he said instead. “Bobby probably wants us back in for lunch. He walked into the house without looking back.

* * *

_ Of course _ , Dean thought sarcastically. It figured that just weeks after he tried his best to convince Sam of his un-evil-ness, they would meet up with a mind-controlling guy who may or may not be a murderer.

Next to him, Sam was deathly quiet, staring at his hands as Andy sweet-talked the security guard into helping them find the file they were looking for.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean muttered, unable to handle the silence. “Even if Andy’s lying and is the real killer… Doesn’t matter. He’s not you.”

“Could be me, really easily,” Sam said softly. “All it takes is one kill.”

“Sam, we do kill. We kill monsters,” Dean reminded. “Andy’s killing innocent humans. And he might actually be telling the truth; maybe it’s not him.”

“It’s a 23 year old with powers that suddenly appeared a year ago. Andy fits the bill, so do I.”

Dean buried his face in his hands for a moment. He snuck a peek at Andy- he was a scrawny little dude, earnest eyes and kinda hard not to like. Dean didn’t see the capacity for cold-blooded murder in him any more than he saw it in his brother.

“But, one thing that’s really interesting,” Sam continued. “Is that I’m immune. I’ve never read about psychics being immune to one another.”

Dean made a face. “Wish I could be immune,” he muttered as he thought about how he’d blurted out his very tiny bit of fear regarding Sam’s impending villainy.

Sam ignored him. “And how come he can control his powers, while mine just come and go as they please?”

“Practice, maybe?” Dean suggested. “He’s been using his non-stop, you’ve just been avoiding them. Not that I blame you.”

“I wonder…” Sam trailed off, shaking his head.

Just then, Andy came back with the file. Turned out, he had a twin.

* * *

The worst part of dealing with a hunt that dealt with demon deals was the connotation of everything it hinted at in terms of their dad. When it was all over, the final victim saved and the demon sent packing to Hell, all Dean could think about was the crossroads.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” He was rocking a little on his feet, feeling restless. “I know you can see it too.”

Sam, perched on the hood of the car, sighed. “He knew what he was doing. For you.”

“For me?” Dean repeated. “I didn’t ask him to do that, I didn’t want it. Why the hell do I deserve to live more than Dad does?”

“He was our father. He loved you. There was no other way to save you and we were running out of time anyway.”

“You know, the demon offered me a deal to bring him back.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t take it.” It wasn’t a question and there was no missing the warning note in his voice.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t tell Sam why he’d refused the deal, that he’d been afraid of what Dad might do to Sam. Would he do what Dean couldn’t? Would he kill Sam without hesitation?

* * *

Dean felt the urge to pace, panic rising up inside him.

“Dean, they’re right,” Sam said softly. “Just give me the gun, I’ll do it myself.” He looked stoic, pale and drawn, as if the demonic virus was already starting to change him. Croatoan.

Dean took a few quick breaths, trying to think. Slowly, he stopped shaking. He knew what he was going to do. And it wasn’t leaving Sam. Or letting him die.

“You guys, get out of here,” he said to the townspeople, throwing them his car keys. “Take my car, there’s enough ammo in the trunk to get you through a war. Don’t stop until you’re safe.”

“You must be crazy-” The colonel started to say.

“No!” Sam leapt to his feet.

Everyone flinched; the colonel drew his gun.

“Dean, I’m not letting you do this. Leave, get out of here with them.”

Dean ignored him, glaring at the retired colonel instead. “You make a move on him, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground,” he growled. “Am I clear?” His voice broke at the end and he wished he could hide his desperation.

“Dean, don’t do this,” Sam pleaded.

The colonel looked between the boys, then at the keys in his hand. “Good luck, boys,” he said firmly, despite the hopelessness of the situation. He was careful to lock them in on their way out, the doctor looking back at them with a sad glance. 

Dean turned to Sam with a beatific smile. “Too late now.”

Sam shook his head. “Why?” He reached for Dean, gripping his jacket and shaking him slightly. “Why would you- Dean. It’s over for me.” He sat back down on the chair, looking exhausted. “It doesn’t have to be for you. You can keep going.”

“Who says I want to?” Dean stumbled back too, leaning against the table.

“What do you mean?” Sam stared at him, looking horrified.

“Nothing, man, just…” Dean shrugged a little. “Just… This life, the thing with Dad… You…”

“So, you’re just going to, what, give up?” Sam demanded desperately. “You’re just going to lay down and die with me?”

“Better than being afraid that you’ll leave too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here. I’ll be here till the end.”

“How far off is that?” Dean pointed out.

Sam placed his hand on his chest, where the infected blood had entered through a shallow wound. “For as long as I’m me.”

Before Dean could reply in any way, the door opened again, and the doctor stepped in. “You guys need to see this.”

* * *

Sam had left. 

For the first twenty minutes, Dean had been hyperventilating, sitting on Sam’s bed and trying to breathe. Then he’d gotten to work tracking him down. He had a fairly good idea of where Sam must have gone and it made him think that maybe Sam had intended on coming back for him.

Either way, Dean now sat outside in his car, watching through the window of a motel room where Sam was with a girl, the two of them bent over opposite ends of a table, looking down at something.

“Oh, thank god,” Dean breathed out to himself, a heavy weight in his chest disappearing. But before he could decide to go to them, there was the crack of a gunshot. 

Dean bounded out of the car, sparing a glance to see that Sam had pulled the girl down to the floor with him; they were both okay. Then he spotted a lone shooter on a roof. He dashed up without thinking, rage hitting at once. “Gordon!” He snapped, yanking the man back by his collar.

Gordon never saw him coming, pinned under Dean’s lighter weight, as Dean punched his face hard. “You do that to my brother again,” Dean snarled. “And I’ll kill you.”

But he couldn’t do more than break his nose, before Gordon’s rifle hit him hard in the back of his head and the world went black.

He woke up tied to a chair, the knots as secure as they could be without cutting off his blood circulation. Gordon stood in the corner, watching him quietly.

“Alright,” Dean spoke up. “Is this the part where you kill me?”

“No.” Gordon help up Dean’s own phone. “This is the part where you call your brother and tell him to meet you here.”

Dean scoffed. “Why?”

“Because, if you don’t, I’ll make you wish I would kill you.” He dialled Sam’s number, holding it close to Dean’s ear. “Better not try anything smart.”

Dean counted the ringtone until Sam’s voice came through.  _ “Dean? Hey, I was just about to call you.” _

“I figured,” Dean answered dryly, relieved even now that Sam really hadn’t been planning on abandoning him. “You ditched me.”

_ “I know, I’m sorry, I just... Needed to figure something out.” _ The guy sounded genuinely apologetic and Dean wanted to make him work for it, but the situation was dire.

“Well, I’m about a fifteen minutes drive away from where you are,” Dean told him. “Gotta say, this is a real funky town, Sammy.”

The pause was barely noticeable.  _ “Yeah. Well, give me some time. I’ll be there soon.” _

“Yeah. Bye.”

The phone snapped shut and Gordon peered at him carefully. “So… I’m betting you found a way to warn him anyway.”

Dean didn’t react, just stared back. “Wanna explain why you’re doing all this? Can’t possibly be just because you’re still pissed at us for leaving you hogtied last time.”

“I was definitely planning on whuppin’ your ass for that,” Gordon agreed mildly. “But that’s not what this is about. This isn’t personal, Dean. I’m a hunter, not a killer.” The sound of the knife being sharpened grew louder, filling the warehouse, then abruptly stopped. “And your brother’s fair game.”

Dean’s blood chilled. “What are you talking about?”

“See, I was doing an exorcism down in Louisiana. Teenage girl, seemed routine, some low-level demon,” Gordon explained, moving around the cabin where Dean couldn't see him. “But between all the jabbering and the head-spinning, the damn thing let slip something about a coming war. Piqued my interest. And if you got the right tools, you can make a demon talk.”

Dean felt a little sick. “You’re talking about torture.”

The older man shrugged. “Whatever gets it done. Anyway. This demon tells me there are human soldiers who’ll fight on Hell’s side in this coming war.” He scoffed, shaking his head. "I mean, they’re psychics, so they’re not exactly pure humans, but still. Can you imagine what kind of worthless scumbag you gotta be to turn against your own race?”

“Sam doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong. This demon said I knew one of them. Our very own Sammy Winchester.” He gave a humorless grin at that. “And before you get into it, I already know about Sammy’s visions. I know all about it.”

Dean screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds. There was no point in denying it. “Sam isn’t like that,” he tried instead. “I mean- the guy didn’t have the guts to kiss a girl until he was 16 and he still feels guilty watching porn. He's got more of a conscience than anyone either of us will have ever seen.”

“For now. That’s just him trying to hold on to his humanity,” Gordon told him. “But it’s only a matter of time before he turns. He’ll be a monster.”

“You’re wrong,” was all the argument Dean could come up with. “And besides, Sam’s way too smart to walk into a trap like this.”

“Oh, I know.” Gordon nodded. “He’s going to scope the place first, see me covering the front door. He’ll take the back. And that’s when he hits the tripwire.” He pulled out a grenade. “Then- boom.”

Dean tried to laugh. “He’s not gonna fall for a tripwire.”

“Maybe not,” he acquiesced. “Which is why there will be a second tripwire.”

“No, no, Gordon, come on,” Dean tried to plead. “There’s no… This is insane.”

“It’s his destiny,” Gordon insisted with a sigh. He crouched in front of Dean. “Look, I’m sympathetic. He’s your brother, you love the guy. This has got to hurt like hell for you. But your dad?” He tugged out a scarf from his pocket and tied it tightly around Dean’s mouth, ignoring his grunts of protests. “I only met him once. And I know that if it really came down to it, he would have had the stones to do the right thing here.”

The mention of Dad had anger rushing through him. But the gag left him helpless to do anything but make muffled sounds of obscenities at the man about to murder his brother.

There was the distant crunch of gravel shifting under a car. 

“Here we go,” Gordon murmured.

Dean swallowed a whimper and prayed.

There was the dull sound of footsteps, wood creaking under shoes. The air itself seemed to lay still, in wait, patient, until-

The first grenade went off.

Dean couldn’t stop the shout that left him. He couldn’t breathe, could’t think, couldn’t do anything except wonder and hope- except there was nothing to hope for because even if Sam survived that, there was a second one and-

Another blast, much closer this time. Heat scorched the back of Dean’s neck as he screamed behind the gag, eyes watering from the smoke as he strained against the ropes in vain.

Gordon stepped off the wall and Dean’s head snapped up to meet his eyes, glaring at him through the tears.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding genuine and damn if that didn’t just make Dean want to kill him more.

But Gordon paid him no more attention, just walked out of Dean’s line of sight. Dean coughed behind the scarf, the ashes in the air getting into his nose and choking his lungs, while his heart beat so fast it seemed to want to leap out of his chest and wither away. Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of safety being turned off and then a gunshot.

Dean closed his eyes, holding his breath. If Sam was dead, then Gordon might as well kill him too, because-

A familiar palm lightly cupped his cheek. Dean gasped, eyes ripping open to see Sam kneeling in front of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, Dean,” Sam assured mindlessly, as he undid the ropes at Dean’s wrists. “You’re alright, we’re okay.”

Dean was all too aware of his ragged breathing as he ripped the gag off himself as Sam freed his ankles. He stood so fast that Sam stumbled back, but Dean held him in place, grabbing his face and checking for wounds.

Sam smiled at him, dust colouring his skin grey. “I’m okay, I promise.” He gripped Dean’s wrist, dislodging his hand. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

“Gordon,” Dean growled. “He’s- I’m gonna kill him.” He started towards the back door, but Sam pulled him back by the neck of his jacket. 

“I took care of it,” Sam said casually, pulling him along. “We don’t need to worry about him again.”

“You- what?”

“I took care of it,” Sam repeated. “He kidnapped you and tried to kill me, so…” He shrugged. “Didn’t exactly have a choice.”

Dean wasn’t sure if it was relief or trepidation he was feeling. But he nodded, not taking his eyes off Sam as they walked. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Sam asked, as they reached the car. “Why he was doing all this? Or was it just because of what happened last time?”

Dean resolutely shook his head, knowing Sam wouldn’t push him right this moment. And the less Sam thought about going dark, the less likely it all became.

For a second, though, Dean had to wonder: what if Sam did go dark side? What did Dean do then?

Something told him he already knew his own answer and frankly, it scared him just a little.

* * *

It was cruel, Dean thought, that just a few weeks after Sam had run off on his own for a day, he disappeared again for a week. Only this time, it was a demon riding his body.

“Not working so well, isn’t it?” The demon mocked sweetly, with Sam’s lilting voice and Sam’s dimpled smile. 

Bobby faltered- the exorcism really wasn’t working.

“Well, I have a few new tricks of my own,” the demon boasted, then started chanting in Latin.

The cabin shook, Dean and Bobby stumbled back, and the Devil’s Trap on the ceiling splintered.

Immediately, the demon snapped the ropes tying it, bringing a hand up in a swipe. Dean and Bobby were thrown away in opposite directions. While they struggled to get their bearings, the demon stood and stretched.

“What the hell do you want with my brother?” Dean yelled at her, trying to sit up.

“Consider it payback,” the demon said, sauntering over to him. It pulled him into a sitting position, then backhanded him. Hard. “You did send me to Hell, after all.”

Recognition struck. “Meg,” Dean whispered.

“Actually, it’s Sam now,” she corrected. "I needed a new vessel and-” She dragged Sam’s hands down his chest, an appreciative tilt to her smirk. “But we can talk about him, if you want. Big brother’s carrying a lot of guilt, lots of dirty little secrets in here.” She tapped her- Sam’s- forehead, then punched him. “And quite a few are about you.”

Blood choked Dean’s throat for a second, along with fear. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know, the little tidbit of information you let loose when you were having your out-of-body experience. Sammy here half-suspects you’re lying about not remembering, but…” She chuckled gleefully. “He can’t exactly ask you outright.”

The confusion on Dean’s face was obvious because Meg’s ensuing cackle was even more delighted.

“Oh, you really don’t remember.” She gripped his hair, tugged his head up so their noses were almost touching. “ _ July 4th. Real _ ,” she whispered teasingly. “Coming back now? The night with all the fireworks? When you practically humped your brother’s leg like a dog in heat, begging him to touch you?”

Shame, horror, arousal- all flashed through Dean’s senses. “You’re lying,” he tried to say, but it was hard to protest when Meg was using Sam’s body to hold him so close, one hand travelling down Dean’s chest, another squeezing his thigh, lips brushing against the shell of Dean’s ear.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Bobby regaining consciousness, getting to his feet.

“Now why would I do that?” Meg questioned, sounding almost curious. “It’s all right here, playing on a loop in Sammy’s head. And the best part?” Her sneer turned darker, cruel. “It’s the guilt he feels about wanting you too.”

Dean didn’t get a chance to reply to that, before Bobby was yanking Sam’s arm back, using the hot poker to burn off the locking sigil. Meg screamed and Dean reacted on instinct, rattling off the Ritaule Romanum that Sam had drilled into his head. Meg screamed, Sam’s head thrown back as black smoke poured out towards the ceiling. When it was gone, Sam fell back to the ground, gasping and spluttering.

“Wh- what the hell?” He coughed, looking around frantically. “What did I just miss?”

Dean considered punching him ,just for the heck of it. But Meg’s words were echoing in his ears and all he could do was lay back on the wooden floor. Bobby eventually got them off the ground, explaining the events to Sam.

When he was done, he threw two necklaces at them. “Here,” he said gruffly. “Anti-possession charms.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean murmured, not able to look the older man in the eyes just yet.

Sam nodded his thanks, inspecting the pendant. “What did she do?” He asked flatly.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know,” he said, perfectly even. “But I know a hunter named Steve Wandell died tonight, so you boys better go on like you know nothing ‘bout that.”

Sam ducked his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Bobby assured kindly. 

They walked out together, heading towards the car. 

“How you feeling?”

“Little sore,” Dean admitted. “It’ll be fine.”

Sam touched his forearm, a silent gesture to stop. His fingers trailed up, gently touching the side of Dean’s face. “Need painkillers?”

Dean forced back a shiver. “Yeah, I’ll take some before bed. Don’t worry.”

The fingers lifted and then his whole hand was cupping Dean’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Dean stayed frozen, pinned under Sam’s soft concern and the memory of Meg’s taunts.

Sam caught it, because of course he did. “What’s wrong, Dean? Something happened, didn’t it?”

“What do you remember?” Dean’s voice didn’t even sound like himself, he despaired.

“Not much,” Sam admitted, thumb stroking over the apple of Dean’s cheek, then his hand dropped to curl around his wrist. “Just bits and pieces. Like I’m seeing a reel that keeps skipping. I see you… A lot.”

Dean managed a shrug, neatly slipping out of Sam’s hold. “I was only with you for about a day. You were on your own for the whole week.”

“Yeah, with at least one hunter dead. That we know of.” Sam sighed. “This is all my fault.”

“No, hey.” Dean reached out against his better instincts, shaking Sam a little. “It was a demon shacking up where she didn’t belong. You didn’t do a thing.”

“I couldn’t fight her off,” Sam pointed out. “And don’t tell me it can’t be done, because Dad did it and Yellow Eyes is way more powerful.”

Dean sighed, but let it go for now. “Are you… You don’t remember much? Really?”

Sam frowned, shaking his head. “Not really, no.”

Dean tried to feel relieved.  _ She was lying _ , he told himself. Maybe not about the hospital thing, because how else would Sam even remember July 4th? He’d never spoken about it before, obviously chalked it up to a dream. But the rest had to be a lie. Sam wanting the same things? Sam feeling the same way Dean did?

For Dean, that night was simultaneously one of the best and one of the worst of his whole life. Every kiss, every touch, every second of being cradled close and held by Sam the way he wanted to be, was seared into his mind forever. But Sam… Even now, after the hospital, Sam didn’t bring it up. 

No, Meg had to have been lying about that. there was no reason for Sam to want him like that. If he did, he wouldn't have gone to Stanford?

“Dean?”

“She made you hand me a gun,” Dean informed him matter-of-factly. “And begged me to shoot.”

Sam cringed, eyes widening. “Shit, Dean, I’m…” He ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. “She must have seen the conversation we’d had about… You know.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded absently. “She brought that up too. Nothing else. Don’t worry.”

Sam didn’t reply. Instead, he stared down at the necklace again. “Wanna do something crazy?” He asked, out of the blue. “Get our minds off this cluster-fuck?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Sam held up the pendant, smiling a little. “Want to get this tattooed?”

Dean blinked, then gave a slow, wide smile. “That’s the best idea you’ve had in months.”

Sam grinned back and the relief in it was palpable. “Where should we get it?”

Dean didn’t have to think, just tapped his hand on Sam’s chest, right above his heart.


	10. Chapter 10

"Find anything?"

Sam stared at the missing poster of Ava with a deep sigh. Between her disappearance and the way Dean looked at him these days- or not looking at him at all- he felt like he was slowly being stretched too thin. “There’s been two freak accidents in the past three weeks at an old hotel in Connecticut,” he said listlessly. “Ellen texted about it a couple minutes ago, I was just about to read up on it.”

“And the Ava chick?” Dean looked up from the TV. “Thought you’d be going all nuts trying to find her.”

“I am.”

“Hmm. You’re being surprisingly non-mopey about it."

“There’s nothing I can do,” Sam said with a scoff. “So we keep looking, and we do our job, and when we find her, we save her.”

“That’s way too healthy for me,” Dean muttered, staring blankly at the screen again.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Start yelling and throwing things around?” Sam asked. “This way, we’re busy.”

Dean just hummed. “Alright. Tell Ellen we’ll take it.”

Sam nodded. “Guess we’re going to Connecticut.” He peered at his brother. “You okay?”

Dean finger-gunned at him. “Peachy, big brother. Let’s go.”

Sam raised a judging eyebrow. “You know finger guns went out of style back in the 90s, right?”

“I’m a child at heart, Sammy,” Dean grumbled at him.

Sam rolled his eyes. Internally, he wondered why the brief levity felt weak.

* * *

The lady at the “very creepy hotel,” as Dean put it, greeted them with a tired smile. “Sorry about the lack of organization. You guys are the only guests here in weeks and, with all the murders…” She shrugged, expression tight. “I’ll, um… If you want to change your mind about staying here, I’ll understand.”

Sam smiled reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry, it’ll take a lot more than that to scare us.” He handed her a credit card. “One room, two queens, please.”

Surprise flitted over her face. “Oh! I thought you were… Never mind.” She smiled at herself and handed them a key.

Sam blinked at her, morbidly curious. “You thought… What?’

“Uh…” She shrugged. “Antiquers? I thought, you know… That you’d only want one bed.”

Sam cringed without meaning to. “Uh… We’re brothers.”

“Why would you think that?” Dean demanded. He glared at the poor woman, voice filled with something that made Sam feel guilty.

He grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him away. “Thank you,” he called back to the lady. “You have to stop freaking out every time someone thinks that,” he said to Dean in a lower voice.

“We’re brothers!” Dean hissed, pulse hammering beneath Sam’s fingers. “It’s sick.”

Sam felt his stomach churn at the venom in Dean’s words. “Don’t yell,” he mumbled.

“I’m not yelling!”

“Yes, you are.” Sam glared down at him.

Dean sighed, stepping away. “Forget it, it’s nothing, man-” He rubbed his forehead. “-come on.”

Sam watched him continue down the hall and his hand felt empty by his side.

* * *

One more death and Sam hated that it helped him figure out the pattern: the ghost, if it was that, was going after people who were trying to help get the hotel sold off.

He went back to their room, intending to tell Dean about it over dinner. He was mildly surprised to find the lights turned off. Dean was in the rocking chair, sitting in absolute silence.

“Dude, what’s with the darkness?” Sam asked. “We should go eat soon, kitchen’ll close in a while. And I think I’ve figured out the-”

Dean sniffled.

Sam paused and whirled around, eyes adjusting to the sparse light and widening when he saw the way Dean was curled up in the chair, clutching a mostly-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Have you been  _ drinking _ ?” He demanded. It was one of the things he could give himself full credit for; Dean barely ever drank anything heavier than beer, and never so much in one go- the age limit wasn’t exactly viable for the life they lived. 

Yet, here he was, clearly wasted.

Dean looked up at him with big eyes, almost innocent. “Duh?” He cradled the bottle close to his chest.

Anger coursed through him, and he strode forward, yanking the bottle away. “Dean, we’re in the middle of a job.” He snapped. “You can’t just get completely trashed when anything could happen.”

Dean scoffed weakly. “I drank when you were gone. All alone. Bar. Stupid people buying me shots.”

Sam felt the usual pang of guilt and regret, this time mingled with fear of what could have happened to Dean in those times. “Well, I’m here now. You need fluids.” He started to turn away, intending to get a water bottle.

“Sammy.”

Something about the tone made Sam freeze. “What is it?”

Dean looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding so wretchedly sad that Sam had to drop to his knees in front of him.

“Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know how to keep you,” Dean sulked.

“Keep me how?” Sam asked, confused. “I’m right here, Dean.”

“No. No, you’re getting ready to leave, I can see it.” Dean hung his head. “You’re getting ready to die.” His words were slurred and soft, hopelessness laden in every syllable.

Sam sighed, cupping his brother’s face and tilting it up. “I’m right here. I’m not dying anytime soon.”

Dean leaned forward, a desperate sheen to his eyes. “Don’t  _ ever _ die. Never. Okay, Sammy? I can’t…” He choked on an alcohol-soaked sob, clamming up for a second.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sam brushed the lone tear from Dean’s cheek. “It’s okay. I’m right here.” He pulled Dean to his feet, rubbing his back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You need to rest up.”

He led Dean to one of the beds, hoping to get him to lie down, but Dean held tighter, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. 

“Don’t go,” he murmured dazedly. “Don’t go where I can’t follow. Because I definitely will try.”

Sam gave a small smile and momentarily tightened his hold. “Don’t try to follow me,” he requested.

“Can’t stop me,” Dean swore and there was the warm press of lips to Sam’s throat.

Sam shivered, but also remembered just how vehemently Dean had insisted that the connotation of them being anything other than brothers sickened him. So, he gently moved Dean’s arms away- he’d fallen asleep standing, miraculously- and lowered him to the bed. Dean shifted in his sleep, turning on his side and cuddling the extra pillow. 

Sam sat on his own bed and suddenly felt so tired, right down to his bones. He already knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night. But he couldn’t be weak now. Dean had been keeping up an excellent facade for half a year now; tonight had been his breaking point. He needed Sam to keep his own head for a while now.

* * *

“ _ It’s a djinn, definitely. _ ”

Sam frowned at the phone for a second, before putting it back to his ear. “Why do you sound so… Flat? What, blood-drinking dream-builders aren’t exciting enough for you?”

“ _ It would be exciting if I could actually be there, _ ” Dean complained. “ _ Research is your job, I’m supposed to be the badass who kills most of the monsters. _ ”

“We both need to be good at both,” Sam pointed out, as he swung the flashlight around the empty warehouse. “That way, if something happens to me, you can still figure out what needs to be done.”

“ _ Stop being so sensible, _ ” Dean said, his eye-roll audible in his voice. “ _ Look, it’s getting late anyway and you haven’t found anything there. Just get back here, we can sleep on it and do it again tomorrow. There’s a dozen other places to check out. _ ”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam agreed. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”

“ _ Great! Get dinner. _ ” Dean ended the call.

“Brat,” Sam muttered fondly to himself as he put the phone away. As he turned to leave the warehouse, he spotted another hallway he hadn’t seen before. Oh, well. What was a few more minutes? Hoping it wouldn’t be too long a foray, he crept into the thicker darkness, hating the suffocating silence.

As he walked, the hall opened up into a large room and-

Sam barely stifled a gasp. Four bodies strung up on odd contraptions, something like an IV connected to each. Three of them were obviously dead. The fourth one, a girl with stringy blonde hair, was just breathing, eyes half-slitted.

There was no time to call Dean. The djinn was here and Sam had to get that girl out. He reached for her, trying to figure out how to unhook her from the IV.

There was the sound of footsteps behind him.

Sam whirled around and his vision went blue.

* * *

He woke with a stifled yell, sitting up in an unfamiliar bed. He breathed in deeply, trying to figure out his surroundings, as his fingers twisted in the sheets. Was this a vision? A nightmare? The last thing he remembered was Dean on the phone telling him to come back to the motel…

“Sammy?” A familiar voice called his name sleepily.

The shock had Sam turning so suddenly that he overbalanced, legs getting tangled in the covers and falling off the bed onto a soft carpet.

A head peeked over the edge of the bed. “Dude. The hell kind of a nightmare were you having?” A hand extended in an offer to help him.

Sam didn’t take it, just stared up in incomprehension as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Dean?”

“Uh, yeah?” A frown audible, he switched on the lamp. “You okay?”

Sam looked around himself at the room- Led Zepp posters on one wall, a framed diploma on the opposite one, photo frames on the bedside table that were disguised by the soft amber light. He looked back at Dean. “What's going on?”  _ And why are we sleeping on the same bed? _ Somehow, that was the most pressing question he had.

Dean rolled his eyes sleepily. Clambering off the bed, he crawled into Sam’s lap, hiding his yawn in Sam’s shoulder. Sam reacted automatically, arms wrapping around his waist, but he couldn’t honestly be more shocked.

“We were sleeping,” Dean reasoned. “We came home late from celebrating Mike’s birthday and you were too tired from studying all day. So we fell asleep.” He frowned a little again. “You drank one shot too many if you can’t remember.”

_ Who the hell is Mike? _ Sam pushed that question away and tried not to focus on how good Dean smelled- some unfamiliar soap and coconuts- or that he was, as usual, not wearing a shirt to bed, so his bare skin was sleep-warm and felt good under Sam’s hands.

“Where are we?” He managed to ask.

Dean blinked, suddenly seeming more awake. “At… Home. Dude-” He placed the back of his hand on Sam’s forehead. -”are you sick?” His hand moved to Sam’s hair.

Sam leaned into the touch, something easing in his chest at how light and unguarded Dean’s eyes were. “I don’t think so,” he whispered, revelling in the easy touches.

“Okay, then.” Dean grinned, though the concern didn’t leave. “As awesome as the carpet is, think we could go back to bed now?”

Sam dumbly nodded, letting himself be pulled back into the bed. “So… Where are we exactly?”

“That’s it, we’re both skipping class tomorrow and going to visit mom and dad,” he grumbled. “Obviously, you’ve been way too stressed. We’re in our apartment, doofus. In Palo Alto. In California.”

_Mom and Dad? California?_ _What the hell is going on?_

He’d stayed quiet for too long, because the next thing he knew, there was a pair of lips pressed against his own.

He froze for a second, then jerked away, staring at Dean, stupefied.

Dean blinked at him with a different kind of worry now. “Sam?”

“You’re kissing me,” he said slowly. “You… You just kissed me.”

Dean was quiet for a minute, hurt and concern warring on his features. “I kissed you on my 16th birthday,” he said quietly. “I’d wanted to for a while and I knew it was wrong, but that day… You took me out for the afternoon to see a movie- don’t even remember what it was, because you were right there and- and I couldn’t  _ not _ . You put up a fight, but you also kissed me back, and then you made me wait till I was 18.” He gave a shaky smile. “Then I got my full ride and you said I would live with you, told mom and dad you’d take care of me. Nobody here knows we’re brothers and-” His voice caught in his throat for a second. “-I don’t know why you’re acting like you don’t remember, but if you’re having second thoughts, or tenth ones, then I swear I’ll kick your-”

Sam didn’t need to hear more. As far as he could tell, this was some bizarre dream- he’d probably shared a beer with Dean and fallen asleep after going back to the motel. This was a dream; he was damn well going to make the best of it.

So he leaned across the pillows and kissed his little brother, eager and desperate, secure that he wouldn’t be pushed away.

Dean’s happy little sigh warmed his chest. He pushed closer to Sam, settling neatly on top of him, and Sam could only hug him tightly, already dreading the moment he woke up from this.

Dean pulled away first, but not going far. “You need to rest,” he murmured.

Sam breathed in the words and kissed him again, ignoring the slight strain on his neck muscles as he leaned up, chasing the faint taste of toothpaste that was almost familiar. Dean’s protest was lost, his fingers tangling into Sam’s hair.

“Sam,” he tried to mumble, half-hearted.

Sam rebuked him with a sharp bite to his lower lip, then flipped their positions, soothing the sting with a tentative swipe of his tongue.

Dean’s hands landed on his shoulders, pushing gently. Sam pulled off, bracing himself on his arms on either side of Dean, hovering over him, body trembling with the need to touch, to feel.

“You gotta rest,” his little brother whispered, but his hands were sliding down, fingers slipping under the hem of his thin t-shirt.

Sam couldn’t stop the pleading sound that escaped him. “Dean, please,” he groaned softly.

Dean closed his eyes, turning his head to the side like it would be easier than looking. “Sammy.” His voice was barely a croak, close to breaking.

Sam dropped lower, resting his forehead against Dean’s temple.  _ Get a hold of yourself, _ he scolded himself. This might be a dream, but he wasn’t going to push Dean into anything. He was just 19, for fuck’s sake, and Sam was already a monster for wanting this, for cooking up this fantasy in the first place. He sighed, nosed gently against Dean’s cheek. “Dean,” he breathed out. He opened his mouth, intending to apologize.

But Dean swore, squirming under him and catching Sam’s parted lips in a rough kiss, hands tugging at the t-shirt. Sam didn’t give himself time to be shocked, just let the clothing be tugged off him and groaned helplessly at the warm press of soft hands on his chest, spurring him on to return the favour all too gladly, taking in every curve and every dip of his brother’s body, tracing across the freckles spread all over his skin that he couldn’t make out in the dim light.

Beneath him, Dean was panting, rolling his hips up desperately, breath hitching with every grind. “Sam,” he called through grit teeth. “What do you- fuck!” He couldn’t bite back a swear, hissing as Sam slid a hand past the waistband of his sweats.

After that reaction, it was easy for Sam- easier than it ever should be- to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock, giving a slow pull.

Dean shuddered, eyes slamming shut as he hurried to do the same. Sam wouldn’t honestly have cared if Dean didn’t reciprocate the movement- he was happy just to have him like this, to see Dean fall apart and know it was because of him, to be allowed it, even if only temporarily. He could probably get off just from that knowledge.

Dean didn’t seem aware of that, though. His hand wasn’t yet big enough to fit all the way around Sam’s cock, but he tried, keeping his strokes long and sure, just as Sam liked it himself. He wondered dimly if the tremors running through his body were because of the physical sensations or just from the fact that it was Dean. It didn’t matter.

He could feel Dean’s movements becoming erratic and broke the kiss, instead trailing his lips and teeth over Dean’s neck and collarbone, sucking small marks into the pale skin as he went. When he finally bit into the curve of Dean’s shoulder, Dean went still under him for a second, before his release spilled hot over Sam’s palm and he cried sharply, hips arching up into Sam’s.

Sam didn’t dare look away, drinking in the sight; the sliver of green behind long fluttering lashes, the choked-off whimpers tumbling over lush lips, the marble skin littered with dark bruises. His own climax blindsided him and he nearly collapsed, catching himself in time and pressing a kiss to Dean’s slack mouth, as they rode out their pleasure.

The room was suddenly silent. As he caught his breath, Dean grumbled something about wet spots and rest and suffocation, but Sam just smiled and let himself be pushed off to his side of the bed. Not even a second passed and Dean was curled half on top of him, head on Sam’s chest.

“Love you,” he said softly, sounding dazed, lips warm against the skin above Sam’s heart.

Sam closed his eyes and tangled their legs together more comfortably, fitting the top of Dean’s head under his chin. “I love you,” he whispered back.

* * *

The drive to Kansas was nerve-wracking and Sam felt more nervous than he’d been in a long time. Throughout the journey, Dean’s hand was a steady weight on his thigh, as if he could sense Sam’s need for comfort, and though his fingers sometimes strayed teasingly towards the inseam of Sam’s jeans, the gesture worked to calm him down. So did the million little kisses Dean bestowed upon every inch of skin currently accessible to him.

And then they were in Lawrence, standing in front of their old house.

Dean entwined their fingers and squeezed. “You okay?”

Sam nodded, staring at the house that he had vague memories of. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Just… Feels like I haven’t been here in a long time.”

Dean grinned. “Well, mom’s gonna be on cloud nine.” Letting go, he rang the bell.

A few seconds passed. The door opened. Mary Winchester smiled widely and threw her arms around both her sons. “Sam! Dean!”

Sam could feel Dean laughing slightly, could feel him pull away and head inside. But he didn’t move; he took up the space Dean had created, letting his mother hug him to herself like he was a child. Sam felt like a child and it was taking everything he had not to cry.

Mary must have felt his restrained sob, because she patted his back soothingly. “It’s alright, baby,” she crooned. “What’s wrong?”

Sam pulled away, letting out a deep shuddering breath that left him loose-limbed and sated. “Just… I really need to see you guys,” he said as an excuse. He walked past her reluctantly, hugged his father, who was standing tall, proud, and alive.

They were both alive.

Sam never wanted to wake up from this dream.

* * *

So it stood to reason that everything went to hell that night. No matter how much Sam wanted to, he couldn’t ignore the half-dead girl he was seeing everywhere. The sight of her triggered the missing memories: Dean had told him to come back, Sam had stumbled across the djinn’s victims, and then?

Then the creature had trapped him.

This wasn’t a dream. It was an illusion, an illusion of everything Sam had ever wanted- his dad happy and content, his mom alive and present, his brother as close to him as possible.

Sam prolonged it. He spent one night pretending to do homework, when he was actually checking up on all the cases he remembered solving over the last year- apparently, all their work had been undone in this world. He spent Saturday visiting a nearby folklore expert to find out a way to kill the djinn. And he spent the next day with his family, laughing and joking and sharing stories, all the way reminding himself that none of this was real.

On the last night, he stayed beside Dean, chest to chest, watching him sleep. When midnight struck, he curled his fingers around his wrist, pressing a light kiss to the uncalloused palm. Then he slid out of bed and walked out. 

It took him a few minutes to locate the silver, but he found a long skillet knife that would do the job well. He’d already procured the lamb’s blood and stashed it in the car. Finding his way slowly through the darkness, he unlocked the front door and walked towards the Impala.

Before he could get in, there was the sound of the front door opening and Dean marched out after him, still in his sweats and a hoodie thrown over. “Sam?!”

Sam debated making a run for it, or knocking Dean out. And in the real world, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. But this Dean? This Dean was softer than Sam had ever known him to be, untouched by loss or pain, free of the nightmares that plagued them. Illusion or not, Sam couldn’t do something like that to him.

He sighed and palmed the knife up his sleeve. “Dean, go back up.”

Dean scoffed. “No! This has gone on long enough and I’ve tried giving you space. Now you’re sneaking off somewhere in the middle of the night? What is going on with you?”

“There’s just something I need to take care of,” Sam told him. “I… I’ll be back soon-”  _ Liar, _ a corner of his mind accused. “-but you go back to sleep, please.”

Dean shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. Snatching the keys from Sam, he yanked the car door open, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“What- Dean! Get out and go to bed. Now!”

Dean didn’t even react, just tapped his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. 

Sam sighed, getting into the shotgun seat. As soon as he was inside, Dean reached for him. His grip was strong from working on car engines with their dad and held Sam tight enough that he couldn’t break free without causing damage.

“Tell me what’s going on. For real.”

Sam shook his head, but spoke carefully. “I just need to check something for myself, make sense of it, maybe fix it.” He was being deliberately cryptic. “We need to go to an abandoned warehouse. It’s about an hour’s drive from here.”

Dean pursed his lips unhappily, but understanding that he wasn’t going to get any more information, he let go and started driving. The drive was entirely silent, with Sam feeling too keyed up to close his eyes for more than a blink. Dean kept throwing him worried looks that sometimes flickered with annoyance.

When they finally reached the warehouse Sam remembered going to-  _ out there, awake, in the real world, and fuck, the thought of going back already hurts _ \- it was well past midnight.

“Stay in the car,” Sam ordered and started walking.

He paused at the sound of the car door. “No chance!” Dean announced, walking past him.

Sam panicked a little, grabbing Dean’s elbow and wrenching him backwards. “Dean, this is serious-”

“So am I!” Dean glared.

Sam’s grip tightened on Dean’s forearms and he turned him until they were face to face. “You have no clue what’s going on here,” he reasoned. “Please, stay in the car.” Truth was, he didn’t think he’d have the heart to watch this dream fade away.

But Dean just struggled against him. “I’ll follow you in, Sam, I swear to god,” he threatened.

Sam slumped in defeat. “Just… Stay close to me.” He swallowed, then kissed Dean’s forehead, letting the contact linger. “I love you,” he mouthed against his hairline.

Dean relaxed instantly. “Love you too,” he sighed. “Even when you’re being freaky.”

Sam’s laugh was choked. “That just means you have to love me all the time.” He pulled away. “Come on.”

They walked in together, Dean’s hand clammy in his own. So when they came across the lone girl strung up on the same contraption Sam had seen, he could feel the way Dean shivered.

“Oh, god,” Dean breathed out shakily. He grasped Sam’s sleeve, tugging as he tried to inch behind him. “Sam, what-?”

“Shh.” Sam clapped a hand over his mouth. “We don’t know if it’s still around.”

“If what is around?” Dean squealed.

“Djinn.”

“Genie?”

“Close enough,” Sam allowed. He stared at the girl, barely alive. In the real world, he was strung up on another contraption just like that. But if he was seeing this here- he struggled to remember the research he’d done- that meant the venom wasn’t working well on him. The real world was bleeding through into this dream. But the djinn itself wasn’t here, so how could he break out?

Okay, first things first: he had to get that girl out. He drew the knife out and approached the girl, trying to think of a way to wake her up at least.

“Sam, what are you doing?” Dean whispered.

“Rescuing the girl,” Sam told him. “Then I figure out how to kill the djinn.”

Suddenly, Dean was hurrying over to stand in front of him, between him and the girl. “Sam… I can’t let you do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, mouth dry.

Dean looked sad, damn him. “Killing the djinn will wake you up, Sam. Is that really what you want?”

Sam’s heart fell. Somehow, he hadn’t expected the projections of his dream world to be self-aware. “You knew.” The words tasted bitter. “You knew the whole time.”

Dean shrugged. “You were never supposed to find out.” He stepped closer. “But that’s okay. You can forget again and all of this will feel real.”

Sam took a step back. “Don’t come near me,” he warned, lifting the knife up. But his hand shook and his voice was weak. “None of this was ever real.”

Dean sighed. “The knife won’t work on me, not really. I’m not the monster, just it’s creation; your projection. And what does it matter what’s real?” He ignored the knife, stepping into Sam’s place. “Sammy, mom is here, dad’s here. And I love you, here. I’m in love with you, and it will be real if you just let it.” He swallowed, eyes wide and beseeching as he lowered Sam’s wrist with one hand and cupped his face with the other. “There’s nothing for you back there. Stay with me.”

“You’re not real, this isn’t real,” Sam whispered, trying to convince himself to move away from Dean’s touch instead of pressing closer. “My little brother is out there, he needs me-”

“What about what you need?” Dean pointed out. “Your little brother out there is afraid of what you might be. Me?” He leaned up on his toes, kissing him softly. “I just want you. You can be happy here, Sammy. For your whole life.”

“Djinn’s bleeding me dry,” Sam reminded. “I’ll be dead in hours.” But he kissed back, trying to memorize the curve of his soft lips, the dip of his waist under Sam’s hand.

“It’ll feel like decades,” Dean promised. He took a slow step back, holding his hand out. “Give me the knife, Sammy. And we’ll wake up tomorrow like none of this ever happened.”

Sam looked down at the knife, the blood dry on it- if he stabbed himself, the pain was bound to wake him up, sending him back to where his brother was waiting. And he looked up at Dean here, looking like Sam was the only thing that mattered.

“It’s okay,” Dean soothed and it sounded so good, so tempting, but  _ so goddamn wrong, _ now that he knew it was all a game _. _

Sam took a deep breath, adjusting his hold on the handle of the knife. He thought about the monsters in the real world, the YED and the missing Colt. He thought about his brother, still recovering from Dad’s death. He thought about how he still didn’t know why Dean had wanted to tell him about July 4th.  _ 0704 REAL. _ Sam wanted to know, he reminded himself.

“Sam?” Dean sounded unsure now.

Sam looked up at him, blinking back tears. “I love you,” he whispered, and plunged the knife into his own stomach.

His eyes fell shut, expecting pain that didn’t come. Instead, other sensations hit him: the ground disappearing beneath his feet, a sting in his arms, and rough hands cupping his face.

“Sam, hey, come on, man,” someone whispered. “Come back to me.”

It took effort to open his eyes and his limbs felt heavy, sore. “D’n,” he tried to say. “De…”

“Hey, hey, I’m here!” Dean’s breath of relieved laughter was warm on Sam’s lips and as his vision cleared, he stared at his little brother.

“Dean.”

“Yeah.” Carefully, he undid the straps restraining Sam, helping him to the ground. “I thought I lost you for a second there.”

Sam was only vaguely aware of a tear rolling down his cheek and he hid it by leaning against Dean heavily, trying to get his motor control back. “You almost did,” he confided.

* * *

Sam lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the pain meds to kick in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean dawdling between the two beds, before sitting on the very edge of the other one.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Well, that was a novelty. “Not really,” Sam answered, turning on his side, his back to Dean.

“Okay.” There was a short silence. “Is there anything I can do?”

_ Kiss me _ , Sam thought pleadingly.  _ Tell me that you love me more than you should. Make me forget the other one. _ He closed his eyes. “No.”

He felt the mattress behind him dip and Dean’s hand was on his back. “Sammy…” He sounded utterly wretched.

Sam tried not to flinch away from the touch and curled tighter into himself. “Mom was alive,” he said, almost inaudibly. “So was dad. You and I… We were in Cali. Living together. You were studying mechanical engineering.”

Dean’s voice was deliberately even as he asked, “What made you wake up?”

“Couldn’t stay when I realized it wasn’t real,” he answered, truthful, but hollow. “Stabbed myself.”

Dean’s fingers spasmed, digging into Sam’s side almost painfully. “Can I…?”

It took Sam a moment to notice the way Dean was inching closer and it got him to turn around to face him, gasping out a “Please,” as he suddenly felt starved for affection.

Dean pulled him closer, one hand carding through his hair as Sam clutched at his shirt, seeking comfort.

“We were so close there,” he admitted, speaking the words into Dean’s stomach. Dean smelled different here: more gun oil and leather. It was both reassuring and not. “That’s the only thing that almost convinced me to stay.”

“We’re close here too.” There was hurt in Dean’s voice now.

“Not like that.” Sam laughed without humor. “Hell, not even like we used to be.”

“I want that,” Dean insisted. “God, Sam, you have no idea, just… Things changed, when you left. Or… Maybe before.”

_ Before _ , Sam thought bitterly.  _ Before you kissed me and I let it happen. Because I was too scared to ask about it and you let me think it had been a dream. _

Dean didn’t like his silence. He tugged on Sam’s shoulder, forcing him into a sitting position. He looked helpless.

Sam looked away for a moment, giving a bitter smile. “You’re always going to hate me for that, aren’t you? For leaving?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, sudden anger flashing in his eyes. “I tried to hate you,” he said in a tight voice. “When you left. I snuck into bars, I got drunk, I slept with an older guy-” He faltered for a moment, as if realizing he was saying too much. “-and even after all that, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even forget you, and I definitely couldn’t hate you.”

If Sam weren’t feeling so exhausted, he’d have been alarmed about Dean’s confession. But right now, all he could do was stare blankly at Dean and say in a flat voice, “You don’t touch me, Dean. You pull away from me, or you suffer through it when I reach for you, but…  _ You. _ Don’t. Touch.  _ Me. _ So, please, don’t lie to me and tell me that we’re absolutely fine.”

Dean’s hands curled into fists. “You’ve been lying to me too,” he said in a low voice. “You- you didn’t tell me about what I said to you back in the hospital when I was dying. I had to find out from Meg.”

Sam felt stuck, somewhere between panic, anger, and the urge to just burst into tears. “Meg happened three weeks ago. So you knew all this time and didn’t tell me either?” He shook his head. “I thought there was a reason you brought it up. But then you’d forgotten all about it and I figured, it didn’t matter. But you get so sick whenever someone thinks we’re… Not brothers. And you know what?” He bit his lips, barely thinking past the hurt. “That’s why I almost stayed. You- he loved me in that world. In every way.”

“It wasn’t real!” Dean half-yelled. “Doesn’t matter how much that other-me loved you, Sam, it wasn’t real, and in this world? You think it makes me sick when people assume?” 

“Yes,” Sam whispered.

There was a strangled noise of desperation and then Dean was crowding into him on the bed, hands fisted in Sam’s shirt and-

He was kissing him. Dean was kissing Sam. Hard, bruising, desperate; Sam could feel the skin of his lips tear under unforgiving bites.

And he was too weak to fight it, too weak to do anything but half-sob because  _ this was so cruel _ and yet, he never wanted it to stop.

But Dean pulled away, eyes wild, and Sam closed his eyes. 

“I don’t know why you did that,” he said defeatedly. “Not when…” He couldn’t finish.

They were close enough that he could feel Dean’s flinch.

“I won’t leave, don’t worry,” Sam assured, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not leaving you alone, not unless you want me to. But you don’t-” He tried to laugh- it was too harsh. “I’m not going to touch you or… Hurt you. Ever. I did it once, because I was drunk and you were a kid- I took advantage and…” He sighed. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he repeated, finally looking at Dean. “No matter how much I want… That.”

Dean had a look of absolute stupor on his face, jaw slack in shock. “What?”

“You heard me,” Sam muttered. “You don’t want it and that’s that.” He moved around Dean, crawling back to his pillow and collapsing. 

“Wait- but, I- you want this?”

_ What a stupid question, _ Sam thought. As if he’d ever not wanted Dean, in any way he could, in every way he’d ever known. He decided not to dignify it with an answer. “I’ll leave if you want me to,” he offered again, looking up at Dean, who was still sitting up.

“I-no. I’m not.” There was a note of carefulness in Dean’s voice now, like he was thinking hard about something.

“Okay,” Sam sighed in relief. “I’m… I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Yeah.” There was a brief pause. “Can I still… Sleep right here?”

Sam didn’t have the heart to refuse. “Sure.”

He was a little surprised when Dean actually clambered over him, forcing his arms apart and worming his way into the space under Sam’s chin, like a child demanding affection. Somehow, it did not hamper with Sam’s less than familial desires. But he took what he could get, cradling Dean against himself like he always used to.

“I love you,” Dean whispered, all ire gone. “Can you at least believe that?”

Sam breathed out slowly. “Yeah.” He hoped he didn’t sound too unsure.

“Good,” Dean sighed. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s chest, on the fabric of the shirt right over his heart. 

And the gesture was so alike to the djinn’s illusion, that it made Sam’s head spin.

“Goodnight.”

Sam cleared his throat lightly and closed his eyes. “Night, Dean.”


	11. Chapter 11

**(FLASHBACK)**

“BOYS!”

The barked order had Dean scrambling to sit up, only to blink in confusion and sleepiness at the look of amusement on their father’s face.

“Dad?” He mumbled, brain not quite catching up.

Somewhere beside him, from under pillows and covers, Sam’s hand appeared, flopping around aimlessly. “No. C’m’back. Yo’warm.” The hand found Dean’s side and stilled.

John cleared his throat. “Sam!” He called firmly.

The huddled shape of Sam’s form flinched, then he sat up, squinting blearily. “Dad?” Then he groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Make it stop.”

John shook his head, finally looking disapproving. “You boys did some drinking last night,” he said dryly. “Now deal with the consequences. Get up.”

Dean raised a hand in tentative defense. “All I had was a soda. And… Just a few sips of beer.”

Sam scowled. “Not my fault I’ve got no tolerance.”

“No excuses,” John scolded. “You’ve got twenty minutes to get ready. I’ll be back with breakfast, then we’re hitting the road.” He left and the room settled into a comfortable silence.

“Hey,” Sam said softly. He reached for Dean, one hand sliding up and down his back.

Dean turned to him slowly, as the events of last night came rushing back in: the hot press of Sam’s palms over his skin, the silky tease of his tongue over Dean’s carotid. “Hi,” he said quietly, closing his eyes and hiding his sudden desire behind a yawn. Fuck, did Sam even remember what had happened? He really had been pretty drunk, after all.

“How do you feel?”

“M’ good.” Dean nodded quickly. “You, um…” The words stuck in his throat. How could he ask about last night, when Sam was looking at him like this, like Dean was just a kid he was concerned about?

Sam smiled fondly. He got out of bed with a wince, letting go of Dean to stretch. “God, those drinks were a mistake last night.”

_ Mistake _ . The word made Dean’s heart stop. For a long moment, there was nothing but thundering silence and everything in his vision except Sam going hazy. “Right,” he heard himself say. “Which explains the cuddling, because, dude- I am not your teddy bear.”

“You are as long as you’re smaller than me,” Sam told him. “Hey, about last night…” A look of hesitation stole across his face and he peered at Dean carefully. “It was…”

Dean hummed, trying not to flush under the scrutiny. He was suddenly relieved that Sam hadn’t left any visible marks on him. The relief came with a sharp ache of disappointment. “The fireworks were awesome,” he agreed. “The drinks? Not so much.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think we’ll be able to do that again though.”

“Yeah,” Dean forced a laugh. “Bad idea all around.”

Sam bit his lips, eyes full of worry. “You didn’t have much to drink last night, did you?”

Dean swallowed, shaking his head. “No, ‘course not. I drove us back, dude. And you were out like a light.”

Sam seemed somewhere between relieved, shocked and disappointed. “And… Nothing else happened?”

Dean held back a sigh. Sam didn’t remember. At least, he didn’t remember anything clearly. “No,” he said firmly, throwing in a frown. “You fell asleep, and I was too tired to go back to my own bed.”

“Okay,” Sam mumbled, brow scrunched up in thought. With a deep breath, he wrapped his arms around Dean, bending slightly to cover him completely.

Dean sat still, heart racing. “Dad said to hurry up.”

“I know,” he muttered. “Just… Savoring this.”

“Why?” Dean whispered.

Sam drew back and his smile was just as fake as Dean’s had been. “You’ve been pulling away from me. So…” He shrugged.

Dean hated himself a little for causing that sadness on Sam’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Just…”  _ I think I love you too much. I shouldn’t want you like this. I don’t want you to hate me. _

“I get it,” Sam assured. “You’re growing older, you don’t exactly need to be cuddled by your big brother.” He turned away, rummaging through his duffel for clothes. “I get it.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Sam’s shoulders were tense and his movements stiff- he’d closed off. And despite that, Dean still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the broadening expanse of his back when he pulled his t-shirt off, couldn’t stop himself from  _ wanting _ . “I’m taking first shower,” he managed to choke out and escaped to the bathroom.

Inside, he leaned against the cold tiles of the wall, hot tears prickling behind his eyelids. What was wrong with him? He wondered. How could he have just thrown himself at Sam like that, especially when Sam had been too drunk to think straight?

* * *

**(PRESENT TIME)**

Sam leaned tiredly against the window of the booth they were in.

Dean kicked his foot gently. “Eat, man, you look dead on your feet.”

Sam barely reacted, apart from picking up his spoon and picking at his breakfast. “You try being a djinn’s juicebox and we’ll see how much strength you have left,” he mumbled.

Dean pursed his lips. Might as well put his epiphany from last night to test. Feeling a little bad for the manipulation, he reached from Sam’s hand, placing two gentle fingers over his wrist. “Sammy, come on, stop picking at it.  _ Eat _ , please,” he beseeched.

Sam jumped at the contact, but spooned some oatmeal into his mouth. “What are you doing?” He asked after a swallow.

“Getting food in you,” Dean said brightly.

Sam glanced suspiciously down at the Dean’s hand still on his wrist. “You don’t need to hold my arm for that.”

“Sure.” Dean let go, leaning back.

Sam leaned back, watching Dean with suspicion on his face as he slowly ate.

Dean ignored him, enjoying his own pancakes, deep in thought.

Sam… Wanted… Him.

He’d pretty much said so last night. Except somehow, he thought Dean was repulsed by the idea. Dean frowned. That meant he couldn’t just jump Sam’s bones. Because Sam wouldn’t believe that.  _ Idiot _ , he thought cheerfully. So, he needed to be more subtle. That was alright with him. As long as Sam felt the same. Which he did.  _ Sam feels the same! _

“Dude, are you okay?” Sam asked, breaking Dean out of his reverie with his squint. “Cause your face is doing about a hundred things right now.”

Dean toned down the smile. “Just feeling good,” he replied truthfully and got up to pay at the counter. As he went, he deliberately trailed his fingers along the back of Sam’s neck, feeling him jump. It was a bit of a power rush, to be honest.

He beamed at the waitress, who did a double take and tentatively smiled back.

He turned to see Sam finished as well, heading out the door. Dean followed.

‘Ready to go?” Dean asked. “There’s a haunting in Illinois.”

“Sure. What do you have on it?”

Dean’s good mood finally dissipated, replaced by a grimness. “Middle-school kids. Four so far- they just disappeared, all around the same area.”

Sam made a face, clearly already done with the case. “Any pattern?”

“Far as I can tell…” Dean sighed. “They were all from suspected abusive families. So, the ghost is probably one of those who thinks they’re doing good work.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “And that makes them more vengeful by nature. Great.”

“You up for it?” Dean asked, suddenly concerned by the exhaustion lining Sam’s face. “You can rest in the car more.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, nothing like adrenaline to keep me awake.”

“You sleep okay last night?” Dean asked, gentler.

Sam opened his mouth, presumably to lie, then closed it and sighed. “Not really.” He wasn’t meeting Dean’s eyes.

Dean felt a tiny stab of guilt. He’d slept fine, cocooned in the safe circle of Sam’s arms after years of resisting the desire, and at ease with what Sam had just confessed. But it was also easy to see why his brother hadn’t gotten any rest. “Get some sleep now,” he suggested. “I’ll even suffer through soft rock for you.”

“Gee, thanks, what a martyr.” Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Dean gave him a pointed look and raised his hand, stroking his thumb over the dark circles under Sam’s eyes to prove his point, before gently pushing him towards the car.

Sam resisted, grabbing his wrist tightly. “What are you doing?” He was glaring, but looked genuinely upset. “What’s going on here?”

“Uh, I’m… About to drive?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Sam snapped. “Answer the question, why are you being so… You’re acting weird.”

“Sam…” Dean spread his arms, staring helplessly at his brother’s ire. “I’m just, I don’t know, worrying about you? You’ve barely spoken a word all morning and you just said you didn’t get any sleep. Of course, I’m concerned!”

Internally, he was dying a little at Sam’s confusion. Had he really gotten so caught up in hiding his feelings that he’d forgotten how to be a good brother? He’d gone too far, had hurt Sam too much, if the simplest act of concern was met with suspicion.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever.” He got into the passenger seat, leaning against the window.

Dean slid in behind the wheel and started to drive, resisting the urge to look at Sam until, twenty minutes later, he realized Sam was asleep.

After a second of consideration, he reached across the seat with one hand, wiggling his fingers into the spaces between Sam’s. Sam hummed in his sleep, unconsciously shifting towards Dean.

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

* * *

**(FLASHBACK)**

The door to the room banged close behind their father and Dean flinched at the sound. Unable to stay there in the same room as Sam and the silence left behind, he hurried out the front door, trying to breathe in the night air.

After barely a minute, he heard the door open again and turned to see Sam. his heart started to break a little more, seeing the two bags Sam was carrying.

“Here.” Sam held out one of the bags to him. He was blinking fast, like he was trying to hold back tears. “I packed your stuff. Think I got it all, but you should probably check to make sure, because we can’t come back.”

Dean blinked. “What?” His voice was flat, but that was better than sobbing.

“Check in the room to make sure I didn’t miss anything,” Sam repeated. “We’re not coming back, so I don’t want you to have missed something that we can’t get in California.”

Dean shook himself a little. “You want me to come with you.” _Of course_ , he thought. One of those bags was his.

Sam looked like he was considering turning the question into an order. Not that Dean’s obedience was guaranteed, but he was pretty sure Sam wasn't above knocking him out and dragging him along.

“Are you telling me you’re  _ not  _ coming?”

Dean wavered, breath catching. He could go. He could leave with Sam. But he’d never hunt again. And Dad… Dad would die, left alone. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Sam looked incredulous. “Dean, this isn’t the life for us, for you. I’m getting us somewhere we’ll be safe.”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t leave Dad.” Would Sam be disappointed in him if Dean admitted he didn’t want to stop hunting either?”

“You are fourteen years old,” Sam told him, voice growing rough. “And I’m not letting you throw your life away for Dad and his crusade.”

“We’re all he has,” Dean insisted. “It’ll break him if we leave and you know that.”

“He made his own choices,” Sam said. “You think I don’t want him to stop too? You don’t think I have tried to get him to see sense?” He shook his head. “I can’t save Dad, so I’m going to save what I can, Dean, please…”

Dean swallowed. Sam was right, in a way. What more could Dean even say in argument?  _ Sorry, Sam, I’m too in love with you to live alone with you? _

“Bobby’s got papers ready that name me your primary guardian. Everything is set up for us, Dean, just…” Sam looked close to tears. “Just come with me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” Dean whispered, and it was the worst half-lie he’d ever told.

Sam froze completely, staring. “What?”

Dean felt himself start to shake. “I don’t want to go to California, Sam, I want to stay here. So, so you, please- you have to stay too, okay? Just stay, cause I, I'm not coming.”

Betrayal was a harsh look on Sam’s face, eyes screwing shut before opening with last-minute desperation. “I’ve got a way out of this life, Dean,” he said. “I’m taking it.”

Dean stumbled forward, leaning up on his toes and throwing his arms around Sam. “Don’t,” he choked, tears finally spilling. “Don’t do this, just… Stay. Stay with me, Sammy, please.” He pressed his forehead into Sam’s chest, feeling the heartbeat, fast and erratic. “Stay.”

Sam cupped the back of his head, forcing him to look up so they had no choice but to lock eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean felt himself slump, the last bit of fight leaving him. “You’re really leaving me,” he whispered.

Sam looked like the words hurt to hear. “Dean…” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Stepping away a bit, he reached into his pocket, bringing out the car keys. “Keep her,” he said, pressing them into Dean’s palm.

Their hands held for a few beats, then Dean let his drop, feeling the warm metal bite into his skin, a poor substitute of the warmth of Sam’s gun-calloused skin.

Sam’s hand hovered in the air between them for an extra second. “I’ll call you when I reach,” he said in a small voice. “Text you my address. If you ever change your mind…” He didn’t complete his sentence, just walked past Dean without another word. 

Dean stayed rooted to the spot. He didn’t have it in him to watch Sam leave.

* * *

**(PRESENT TIME)**

“I’m hungry,” Dean announced, stopping the car in front of a lone diner.

Sam switched his phone off. “What do you want?”

“Pie,” Dean said firmly. “Fries. Double cheese burger. Oooh, and don’t forget the extra onions!”

“I won’t forget that, but no fries,” Sam said. “I’m getting you a salad and you are going to eat that too.”

“Sammy!”

“One salad won’t kill you,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“You don’t know that,” Dean protested.

Sam just glared.

Dean groaned. “But you’ll get the pie?”

“Yes, Jesus, I will get you your pie.” He got out of the car.

“You’re the best,” Dean called after him.

“I know!” Sam yelled without looking back, then stepped into the diner.

Dean leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, feeling the good kind of exhaustion that came with a successful hunt. It had turned out pretty easy, after all. The ghost had been fairly new, not really powerful yet. And the kids had all been found safe.

And Sam… He still froze everytime Dean touched him for more than a few seconds, too surprised to hide the conflicting emotions that flit across his face in those seconds.

The silence outside his rolled down windows suddenly struck him. He opened his eyes, only to see the lights of the diner flicker. He straightened, peering forward, and alarm shot through him when he realized he couldn’t see Sam inside.

* * *

**(FLASHBACK)**

Dean’s finger shook as he finally pressed CALL. the phone only rang twice. Static. Then-

“ _Hello?_ ”

Dean’s breath caught. That wasn’t Sam. That was a girl.

“ _Hello?_ ” The voice repeated, tentative now. “ _Dean?_ ”

He swallowed. She knew his name. “Sa- uhm, Sammy?” He couldn’t bring himself to voice his request.

More static. “ _Sam, wake up, your brother’s calling._ ” It was muffled, distant.

Dean’s heart jumped. Sam was right there, so close, he was- his brain stuttered to a halt. Sam was with someone else. Sam was asleep next to a girl.

“ _Dean?_ ” Said a voice he hadn’t heard in two years.

Dean slammed the phone down, ending the call and switching it off in one breath, then shoving it into his pocket. Then he signalled the bartender for a shot. Thank fuck for seedy bars who didn’t care about serving underage patrons.

The alcohol burned down his throat, recklessness rising up with a petty rage. He drank a few more shots, shot a smirk at the older stranger who was eyeing him like a piece of (underage) candy. The man was taller, lean, with dark hair and a dimple in one cheek. His name was Marcus and he bought Dean another drink.

Dean thought about how Sam would never have let him come to this place and let Marcus lead him out into a car. The hand sliding up his thigh was heavy, almost familiar, cupping him through his jeans. He arched into it, shame and guilt and arousal rising up together.

Marcus’ fingers squeezed and Dean swore, hips bucking up into the hand. Then the pressure was gone.

“What the fuck?” Dean hissed.

“Wait till we get to my room.”

So many warning bells, so many instincts telling him to get out- Dean didn’t care. Dad wasn’t gonna be back for another day, Sammy had left him, and Dean. Just. Didn’t. Care.

_ I don’t care. _

He repeated the mantra to himself as they pulled up in front of a lavish hotel. He repeated it when Marcus instructed him to take a quick shower. He repeated it as he gripped the amulet around his neck under the spray of water, the one proof he has that Sam used to love him more than anything.

_ I don’t care. _

Marcus reached for him easily, pulling him into his lap, their chests flush and breaths mingling. There was no guilt in his eyes for taking a 16 year old and Dean refused to feel his own guilt. It wasn’t like he was cheating.

Marcus kissed him, fast and heated and demanding, one hand on his hips, pushing him down to grind down on his lap, the other hand curling around the back of Dean’s head. Dean lost control immediately, gasping into the whiskey-flavoured kiss and picking at the buttons of Marcus’ shirt.

“Tell me who you’re thinking of,” the older man ordered.

“Don’t fucking waste time,” Dean panted.

A punishing bite was placed over his neck and he cried out, hating the rush of pain and wanting more.

“Tell me.” The snap of a lid and then cold fingers trailing over trembling skin. “Tell me who’s name you’re going to say.” Another bite, gentler.

Heartbreak and alcohol- the worst combination of all. Dean broke. “Sam,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. A single tear escaped. “Sammy.”

* * *

**(PRESENT TIME)**

Sam emerged from the fog and Dean nearly dropped the gun in relief. “Sam,” he called out.

A smile spread across his face, bright in the gloom. “Dean!”

Then another figure appeared behind him and all Dean could see was the glint of a knife. “Sam, look OUT!”

Sam didn’t have the time to react. Dean watched his body jerk backwards, mouth falling open on a gasp, blood rushing from his face and turning it white. He fell to his knees and Dean screamed, running across the remaining distance, tossing the gun aside as he slid to the ground in front of Sam, catching him before he fell completely.

“No, no, hey, hey hey hey, come on, it’s okay, I got ya,” he babbled incoherently. He cupped Sam’s face, forcing him to stay upright.

Sam made a soft sound of pain, eyes fixing on Dean for a second before drooping.

“Okay, okay, come on, let me see,” Dean muttered, resting Sam’s head on his shoulder and reaching for the back of Sam’s jacket. His hand touched sticky wetness and the red seemed black in the darkness. Dean’s heart stopped, mind going blank. “It’s not that bad,” he tried to say, lifting Sam’s head to look at him. “It’s not even that bad, you hear me? I’ve got you now, I’m gonna take care of you.” His voice broke. “About time I got a turn, right? To- to take care of you?”

Sam’s eyes fluttered close, mouth shaping words Dean couldn’t hear. He slumped further and the echo of the pulse beneath Dean’s fingers stopped.

“No, no, Sam? Hey, Sam, hey, look at me.” Dean shook him lightly. “Look at me,” he pleaded.

No answer, just a warm exhale that he could feel on his lips and then… Nothing.

“No,” Dean whispered. “No, oh god, no, no.” He buried his head in Sam’s shoulder, like a kid, and hugged him close, clutching helplessly. And he couldn’t help but scream in vain, “Sam!”

* * *

**(FLASHBACK)**

Sam seemed to waver between wakefulness and unconsciousness, the medication started to take effect, along with the heavy blood loss. Dean gently guided him back on a pillow, stroking his fingers through Sam’s hair.

As Sam finally fell asleep, the terror that had been growing inside Dean finally subsided a little, giving place to anger. “How could you do that?” He was surprised to hear himself.

Dad glanced at him warily, but resigned. “Do what?”

“Use Sam as bait!” Dean half-yelled, rising to his feet.

John hissed through his teeth. “Keep your voice down,” he ordered. “And Sam agreed to it. He fit the victims’ profile and agreed to take the chance.”

“Because he’s an idiot and you should never have let him do it-”

“Lower your voice-”

“Then he got his chest torn up because  _ you _ weren’t fast enough.”

Dad clenched his jaw, looking away. Dean felt a stab of guilt, but it disappeared quickly.

Sam stirred on the bed, groaning softly. Dean was back at his side in a flash, grabbing the hand that was weakly searching. Sam’s fingers curled loosely around him, relaxing again.

“He wasn’t even supposed to come on this hunt,” Dean said softly. “It was supposed to be me.” Maybe if he’d gone along, he could have protected Sam.

There was a long pause in which Dad wouldn’t meet his eyes. “He made his choice,” he said simply.

And Dean was barely 13, but he knew when he was being lied to. But he was too tired, all of a sudden, to argue. So he climbed in next to Sam, making space for his much smaller frame against Sam’s lanky one. Sam’s skin was warm as usual and Dean tucked his nose into his neck, breathing him in.

* * *

**(PRESENT TIME)**

Sam was deathly pale against the grimy mattress, looking almost peaceful with his hands folded over his stomach. Bobby was long since gone, unable to watch Dean’s grieving rage, and he was glad for the solitude.

“You know, I remember, when we were kids,” Dean was saying, out loud, sitting on a chair next to Sam. “You used to love playing football. Joined up in every school you could. And then, one day, you just didn’t. You quit.”

He rubbed his temple, wiping away a tear from his cheek. He didn’t want his vision to blur. Not when Sam looked so ethereal like this, like he really was just asleep, not…

“You never told me why and I didn’t realize for years- not until you came back from Stanford actually- but you quit because I was old enough to hunt. And you didn’t want me to. Dad needed all the help he could get and I was always ready to go with him, but… You wanted me to stay safe,” he whispered. “So you quit playing and went in my place.”

Asleep, face clear of worry lines and brow unfurrowed, mouth at ease, not turned down or pursed in thought- sometimes, Dean forgot how young  _ Sam  _ was. Had been. So many times, Sam had reminded Dean that he was just a kid, but so was  _ he. _ 23 was not old enough to take on the kind of responsibility Sam had. 18 definitely hadn’t been old enough and now, keeping vigil over a dead body, Dean could finally understand why Sam had left.

“It’s not fair,” Dean whispered. “I never…”

No. No, he couldn’t let this stand. He couldn’t…

He had to fix this.

* * *

**(TIME SKIP)**

The demon smiled, red eyes fading back to brown. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “You know what I want.”

Her smile widened and she breathed out a laugh. “Oh, I know,” she assured. “I’m just savoring this.”

“Bring Sam back.”

“Why would I want to make a deal with you?”

Dean forced a bark of laughter. “I’m a hot commodity these days. All you bastards want me out of the way so you can get to Sam. So…” He spread his arms. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” she echoed, slowly stalking around him in a circle. “And yet… I don’t want to deal with you.”

Dean took a deep breath, trying not to panic. “Why not? It’s a fair deal: my soul for Sam’s life.”

She hummed. “How about this: I just don’t want to give you the standard ten years.”

Dean blanched. “But… That’s the same deal you give everyone else.”

“But you’re not just everyone else, are you? Like you said, you’re real popular down under, Dean.”

Dean started to panic now. “9 years.”

“Nope.”

“8.” 

“Desperation isn’t as sexy as you seem to think it is.” She gave a little wave and turned around, starting to walk away.

Dean lost the last shreds of his composure. “Please,” he begged. “Please, anything, just… Bring him back.”

The demon turned to face him. “Oh, stop grovelling, needy guys are such a turn off,” she sneered, then sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Dean hardly dared to breathe. “What’s the catch?”

“I’ll give you… One year,” she decided. “And if you try to do anything to get out of the deal, Sammy drops dead. No do overs. No take backs.”

Dean barely heard her. “One?” His voice was weak. “Just one year?”

“Take it or leave it,” she taunted, coming closer.

Dean closed his eyes. “Deal,” he whispered.

She tilted her head up, hand resting over his chest in a mockery of a fond touch. “So seal it.”

Dean didn’t think about how the last person he’d kissed had been Sam, just a few nights go. Instead, he grabbed her forearm, pulling her into a harsh kiss that reeked of sulphur. And something in his heart clicked back into place.

* * *

Dean broke through the door, breathing hard. “Sammy?”

Sam was there. Sam was standing. Sam was looking at him. “Dean.”

Dean crossed the room quickly, throwing his arms around Sam’s neck, suddenly shaking. Sam winced, but hugged back lightly.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean took two deep breaths as he pulled away, trying to ground himself. Sam was okay. He could think about the rest later. The  _ rest _ meaning how Sam would kill him himself once Dean told him what he’d done.

* * *

“It’s over,” Dean mumbled. He turned to Sam with a breathy laugh, ready to demand celebration.

Sam was staring at him. “Did I die?”

Dean felt the words like a slap to the face. “What?”

“Did I die?” Sam repeated, voice cracking. “Did you sell your soul for me like dad did for you?”

Dean shook his head. “Sam… Don’t… Not now, please.”

“No, now,” Sam ordered, gritting his teeth. “Tell me the truth-”

“Don’t get mad at me,” Dean protested, voice shaking. “Don’t do that. I… I had to. I had to look out for you.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Sam tested, desperately. “What, just… Let you go to Hell? Like dad?” He looked away, biting his lip. “How long d’you get?”

Dean sighed. “One year.”

“One- one year? Just one… Goddamn…” Sam looked ready to throw up. “Dean, how could you make that deal?”

“I had to,” Dean insisted. “I couldn’t… You’d have done the same for me!”

The argument barely fazed him. “I’m your big brother, it is my job to look after you,” Sam exclaimed, grabbing Dean’s arms. “Not the other way around! Definitely not like this!”

Dean stared up at his brother. “I had to,” he repeated softly. “Sammy…  _ I had to. _ ” Didn’t Sam get it yet?

“No,” Sam whispered, voice broken. “No, you were supposed to go on. You could have… You shouldn’t…” He hung his head, shoulders shaking.

Dean stood frozen. The urge to apologize for distressing his brother was buried under the comforting ache of Sam being alive. He reached out, touched the strand of hair that was hanging down Sam’s forehead. “Sammy…”

Sam hugged him, shaking his head, taking deep breaths. “I’m not letting you go to Hell,” he swore. 

Dean pressed his mouth to Sam’s shoulder and tried not to think about what that would mean.


End file.
